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.
What I like about NeSpoon‘s lace murals is the contrast between her whimsical creations and the concrete walls they adorn. The Polish street artist brings beauty to unremarkable buildings while paying homage to the lost art of doily making. At this scale, the doilies move from domestic handy-craft to eye popping works of art. NeSpoon compares lace to an ancient code, one that almost every culture can connect with. Lace patterns are echoed throughout nature, she says, “in the shape of small sea creatures, flowers and snowflakes.”
Tammy Kanat‘s weaves asymmetrical ovals of colourful wool, linen, and silk. To me, they look like giant eyes with layers of moss green, vermilion and lapis blue. Iris comes directly from the Greek word Iris, which means ‘rainbow’. There is so much rich detail in the texture and colour of each one. “I often refer to my work, and it’s process like reading the chapters in a novel and not knowing what happens at the end until I finish the book,” says Kanat. “Not knowing the end of the story keeps me curious and motivated.”
This is the third entry on my orange tree. The first was peppered with naivety and hope. The second was weighed down by frustration and uncertainty. Since then, I’ve watched my plant slowly flourish and grow before my eyes, restoring some faith in, well, myself. While I know that I’ve had very little to do with its resurgence –– plants are such resilient and intelligent things –– I do feel some small sense of triumph. For starters, I stuck with it. No small feat when the voices in my head were willing me to give up, let someone more seasoned (read: patient) take over, trade it in for a leafier, fruit baring one that’s neither nuisance nor eye sore. It was amazing how quickly it began to show signs of progress with just two or three adjustments to its care. Withered, yellow leaves fell away and tiny, acid green ones sprang through in their place. The texture of once thin and papery leaves turned waxy and robust. The satisfaction of watching this plant recover, bear new leaves and blossoms, has been truly gratifying. It turns out that it didn’t need much. A clean pot. Sun. Rainwater. Fertilizer. And maybe an attitude shift to its carer.
Rebecca Sammon’s mythical, magical figures.
A mural by artist, Zhang Enli adorns the facade of a rural, Italian chapel.
Printed summer dresses by Oslo based, Cathrine Hammel.
Francisco Matto’s couple, crafted from marble and wood.
Smithsonian miscellaneous shell collections.
The walls at Osteria dei Meriavigliati
I think about colour combinations the way my foodie friends think about parings of flavour. I get as excited about turquoise and terracotta as they do about ginger and yuzu. A bad colour combination is as hard on the eyes as a peanut butter and onion sandwich is on the stomach. I understand, taste is subjective, but some things are not meant to be partnered. Puce and acid green, please leave the room. I will always come back to pink. Pink is my safe place. Everything, and I mean everything, looks good with pink. Chartreuse, check. Mustard, check. Cornsilk, check. Tangerine, double check. From a fleshy, Renoir pink to the hottest Schiaparelli, pink is the winning hue. It’s my pantry staple. Pink is my pepper.
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