There’s a beautiful moment, when summer and autumn first meet, and the dahlias are in full bloom, and the patios are still bustling and the freshness of fall is easing its way in. You feel it in the morning, crisp and bracing. And you feel it in the late afternoons as you walk home and wish you had a sweater. The air suddenly feels cleaner. This is the time for goosebumps on suntanned arms. This is the time for bare feet and wool sweaters. This is the time for insect repellent and cinnamon. It’s fleeting this moment, which makes it all the lovelier. To quote Leandra Medine, “I love summer and hate everything else,” until this moment comes along and I’m reminded that autumn is always worth saying goodbye to summer for.
Every year in mid-September I find myself lying on a chiropractor’s table, eyes filled with tears, wondering why I ignored signals until my body had to sound an alarm. “I had to make you uncomfortable, otherwise you never would have moved.” Thank-you universe, I am now uncomfortable, and I cannot move. Which I understand is the point. It’s not lost on me that the moment my children return to school my body breaks down. And that the moment I have long stretches in the day to roll out clay, I can’t lift a spoon. Pity party over. In my defense, I’ve come along way on the road to self care. The expression, “self care” makes me think of Nair and vanilla scented candles. But, I digress. When life brings you to your knees, or to your back, or to a fetal pose enough times, you realize that some things must change. But you know, middle-aged dog, new tricks, some things are harder to change than others. And as far as I’ve come, I still fall into familiar holes and make mistakes I should know better than to make. When will I learn? Maybe never. Or maybe the fall won’t be as long, and the thump so heavy; maybe I’ll learn to recover better. Here’s hoping. I now have a client that is expecting work I can’t produce, and a list of to-dos that I won’t be able to tick off. It’s funny how pain reduces that list to its very essential items, to the list it likely should have been all along. Maybe the greatest lesson of all is that I have no control, and any illusion that I do is what lands me in the hole to begin with.
I adore Yumi Kimura‘s childlike illustrations, and on heavier days, they are everything one might look for in a lift. Imagine winged horses, snails with giant shells, pigeons in pearls, and a fish wearing a tiny tiara. Kimura’s work is colourful, naif and endearing. Here’s a lama with a squirrel on its back. At least, I think it’s a lama, and I think it’s a squirrel. Have a look at her instagram feed; it may brighten your day, too.
Christopher Wynter‘s paintings make me think of a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces don’t quite fit. There’s something oddly alluring in the confusion of mismatched shapes and colours. Some are more densely composed than others. Without titles, we’d have no idea what we were looking at, like 653 puzzle pieces in a cardboard box. And that’s what’s so exciting about abstract art, that so much of what we see is up to the viewer.
Is it useful? Is it beautiful? I think about William Morris often when I make something out of clay. “Have nothing in your home that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” My intention is to make something, that to someone out there, is both. Beauty is more subjective than function, although possibilities for the latter are endless with a little imagination. I’m always so happy to see a bowl I’ve made making its way into someone’s daily life. Apples, seashells, spools of thread, my pieces are made to be filled with whatever makes you happy. My friend, Tara keeps old issues of the New Yorker in one of my large finned bowls, and my friend, Maryam fills her oval winged platter with Iranian pistachio nuts. In my hands it was one thing, in theirs it became another. When someone asks me what something’s for, I say, “anything you want; a lemon, a parsnip, a handful of golf balls.” Or as my friend and fellow potter, Katherine says, “For your happiness.”
Kate Mary’s paintings are ones that you want to step into. A swimming pool, a greenhouse, a cobalt blue balcony overlooking trees and dappled sun. The Glasgow artist’s work is rich in flora and fauna and bold primary colours. David Hockney, Henri Matisse and Betty Woodman are major influences. I love the architectural details and the tiles in many of her paintings. It’s all so fresh and inviting.
It’s this pink sapphire waterfall that caught my eye. It’s striking, and yet everyday wearable. Alexa de la Cruz designs jewellery for women who appreciate the art of the subtle statement. Enter the Tulip ring. Or the Arcoíris Eternity Band, made up of Cabochon Australian opals in pastel hues. I love the watermelon tourmalines in these floral earrings. I wear hardly any jewellery these days, but de la Cruz’s pieces seem like they could quite quickly become part of one’s skin.
I’m not sure that there is a person alive who doesn’t like sunflowers. Granted, it’s bees and children that love them most, but I’ve yet to meet a grownup that doesn’t swoon on receipt of a bunch of sunshine. I have six stems with golden flowers the size of dinner plates sitting at my kitchen table that are a banquet for the eyes. Jason’s grandparents grew them in their garden, and some would reach soaring heights, 10 feet or more. I used to marvel at them every time we’d visit. The best part was seeing Gino & Stefania –– they were both tiny –– standing next to these towering sunflowers full of joy and pride. First come the peonies, then the Dahlias –– and then come the sunflowers, summer’s last laugh.
Margo Selby is widely available, (West Elm carries her pieces) but still very much committed to traditional hand weaving techniques. Textiles are woven into her life story, with a childhood spent crocheting, knitting and cross stitching with her grandmother. “My family have always had a tradition of women making textiles at home,” says the U.K. native. Her work is bold and joyful, with intricate patterns that play with geometry and repetition. “When I’m designing a rug, I treat the format as my canvas to create a piece of functional art.”
I tried to make something really complicated this week, and what’s more, I tried to make it fast. Needless to say, it cracked in four places, and the whole project was a big waste of time, energy and clay. And then this morning, I began again. Only this time, I made something really simple. Something I hadn’t sketched out and thought about for weeks. Something that I’ve made variations on many times before. It turned out beautifully. And was a gentle reminder, that there is a time for exploration, and a time for staying close to what we know. And that either way, simple really is best.
