Life

Wall to Wall

August 4, 2015

My love of wallpaper dates back to childhood, when my bedroom walls were covered in tiny peach-coloured palm trees. I had a habit of scribbling on everything –– radiators, photo albums, floors –– but I never messed with the palm trees. Years later, my children’s bedroom is decorated with a wall of turquoise poppies designed by Tres Tintas of Barcelona. And so far, it hasn’t been sullied with chocolatey fingerprints or crayon. There is a roll of Mathew Williamson’s hummingbird wallpaper –– a gift from my mother –– that I’m saving for the tiniest powder room, and a lot of the papers from Bien Fait, (especially ‘The Wild”) would add whimsy to our walls, too. I’m pretty sure the palm trees are no longer in production, but this one from Cole & Son feels like the grown-up version.

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Ride The Wave

August 3, 2015

An interesting piece in the New York Times talks about the genetics of dare devils, and how risk takers and thrill seekers are driven by their DNA. “In essence, the findings suggest that some people might have an innate, inherited need to turn to risky activities to reach ‘their optimal level of arousal.'”  The Australian motorbike stunt rider, Robbie Maddison springs to mind. The guy surfs the world’s heaviest waves on a dirt bike. It’s mind blowing, thrilling, and stomach churning to watch.

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Adamas

July 31, 2015

A  loose diamond is such a pretty thing, until it finds the perfect setting, and then, well it’s extraordinary. It’s as though the diamond needs a container for all that exquisite energy. I tend to like the simpler settings, with little guss and fuss. Let the diamond speak for itself.

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Chic, Chic

July 30, 2015

I’m perplexed by people who buy a painting because it matches their pouf. I feel that the art and objects we surround ourselves with deserve more compelling stories than that. One of my favorite things, given to us as a wedding gift by our friend and koumbara, Stephanie is a life-size ceramic chicken, once used for transporting wine and vinegar. These chickens, (or are they roosters, I’m not sure) were traditionally made for Nicola Fasano from the village of Grottaglie in Puglia. I don’t remember how Jason and I flew home with it from London, but I do know that it’s had pride of place at our table for years now. It’s unique and charming, and has a great sense of humour, much like Steph.

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Through A Rose Tinted Lens

July 29, 2015

It all started with a pink sofa. I’ve been thinking about one for some time. I think it’s more of a chaise that I have in mind, in a mellon pink, or a dusty rose, like the buildings in Marrakech. And then I happened on this image, and boom, my heart exploded. I can’t express how much I love this sofa/room/house; and so I’m not going to even try.

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French Dirt

July 27, 2015

It was the cover –– a fauvist inspired landscape by Paula Munck –– that caught my eye. And when I flicked through the first few pages of Richard Goodman’s ‘French Dirt, The story of a garden in the south of France,’ I knew I had found my summer reading. I didn’t have cash on me, and the hunchbacked lady behind the till at my local second hand bookstore wouldn’t put it aside, (“look, I won’t put it in the window, how’s that?) But two weeks later when I finally made it back, there it was, in the same spot, waiting for me to pick it up.

“I had a garden in the south of France. It wasn’t a big garden. Or a sumptuous one. Or a successful one, even, in the end. But that didn’t matter. It was my garden, and I worked it hard and lovingly for the few months I had it –– or it had me. This little piece of tan, clayey, French earth, nine meters by thirteen meters, (thirty feet by fourty-three feet) was in fact the first garden I ever had. It taught me a great deal about myself. “Your garden will reveal yourself,” writes the wise gardener Henry Mitchell. It did. It taught me that I am generous, impatient, hard-working, sentimental, boyish, stubborn and lazy.”

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Room to Grow

July 27, 2015

We have a tiny third bedroom with just enough room for a crib and a small chest of drawers. It’s festooned with bunting and air balloons, and from the ceiling, hangs a fabulous lime green chandelier I bought from an upcycler in Miami just before Iole was born. For the moment, it’s Luma’s room, but I can see the baby rooming with Antimo soon, and Iole moving back into her old nursery. She’s mentioned a bunk bed, which could possible fit, (like a cabin on a ship) but I have other ideas.

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Scent of a Girl

July 24, 2015

My friend Polly had a laugh so decadent that it lingered long after she left a room. Her laugh was the perfume equivalent of a Chanel no 5. Only, she never would have worn anything so classic and familiar. Instead, I imagine her flitting between a scented oil she picked up at a market in Delhi or an offbeat scent from an independent, small batch perfumer out of Brooklyn. It was Polly who introduced me to the lovely Les Senteurs on Elizabeth Street in London. It’s the city’s oldest independent perfumery, with a wide array of scents from olfactory wizards like Pierre Guillame, Robert Piguet and Frederic Malle. Next time I’m in London, I’ll walk past the shop, take a great, big breath, and think of my friend.

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ABC

July 23, 2015

Birthday presents are splendid, but a gift on an ordinary Wednesday is even better. Personally, I don’t think we need occasions to give gifts, and lucky for me, my friend Bianca, agrees. She’s forever turning up at my kitchen table with some tchotchke or another. Today, it was a book for Luma (me) that is a total delight. A million miles beyond your typical ‘A is for Apple, B is for Boat’ alphabet book, alphabetics is packed with juicy words and delicious images. There is ‘Daisy the dauntless diver,’ ‘Uma the unpredictable unicorn’ and ‘Ezra the eccentric eskimo.’ Of course, no one comes close to Bianca, the barefoot break-dancing babooshka.

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Girl With A Pearl

July 20, 2015

Last night, I told my children a story about a dull looking oyster called Marjorie. Her friends, Penelope the starfish and Terrence the seahorse, were both colourful and gorgeous. “Oh Marjie, it’s what’s inside that counts,” said her Mama, whenever she’d lament about how dull and ugly she felt next to her cool looking, prickly pals. That just confused Marjorie, because she didn’t feel very pretty on the inside, either. And then one day, the weirdest and most miraculous thing happened –– a small white orb, so lustrous and iridescent –– appeared inside of her. This, thought Marjorie, is my secret power and my lucky charm. I don’t have prickles, but I do have a pearl. Now, I didn’t tell Iole and Antimo the part about human divers digging up pearl oysters for necklaces and rings. That, I think is a story for another day.

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