Januar in Denmark

I have a collection of these Danish plaques that are dedicated to the months and seasons, but after awhile I found the visuals too visually distracting and turned them around so that only the dedication on the back is visible:



I love the smudged fingerprint of the decal. Anyway, I turned the Januar plaque around yesterday, and apparently this is what I'm supposed to be doing:



Done and done! I have skates just like that, and I'll make Julius into a hat, posthaste. But wait, I think I have some random fur somewhere around here ...

Loved and Lost: Burnside House

Oh, readers, just as there are short relationships that end and never quite leave you, there are houses you live in briefly that imprint themselves forever. In my life, the most distinct was certainly the few months I lived in Burnside House with my dear friend Keiko. Later, we lived together in Rome:



Here she is on the sill of an upper story of the Palazetto Cenci, where we lived and studied. But the apartment we kept and our time together in Providence were easily some of the happiest months of my life. We lived here:



How I love this house. Everything about it is ideal, even the address -- Keiko, a great lover of mathematics, thought it was predestined: 314 Benefit. But really it runs along Planet Street, thus names for the discovery of some heavenly body from the crest of the steep hill. There are two entrances, one on top of the other (servants vs. Burnsides):



Burnside is a curious name, no? General Burnside, who served in the Civil War, built the house shortly after the war. By all accounts a horrible, if nice, general. According to Bruce Catton in Mr. Lincoln's Army, "... Burnside had repeatedly demonstrated that it had been a military tragedy to give him a rank higher than colonel. One reason might have been that, with all his deficiencies, Burnside never had any angles of his own to play; he was a simple, honest, loyal soldier, doing his best even if that best was not very good, never scheming or conniving or backbiting. Also, he was modest; in an army many of whose generals were insufferable prima donnas, Burnside never mistook himself for Napoleon. Physically he was impressive: tall, just a little stout, wearing what was probably the most artistic and awe-inspiring set of whiskers ..."

More about those whiskers ...



the term "sideburn," an inversion of his name, was coined to describe them. I felt obligated to sport them while living in his house, but I never really pulled it off with the same aplomb. He is said to have loved his horses. This is their house:



They were lifted by elevator to the upper level, and washed in a bathroom lined entirely in copper. If only my bathroom were lined entirely in copper ... sigh. My bedroom was once the General's smoking parlor, and lined entirely in rosewood paneling:



Messy, decrepit and exquisite, I miss that house every day. A few weeks ago, ALL of the iron fretwork had been removed from the house, and I just about jumped out of my skin, but it was returned recently, freshly cleaned, sealed and painted:



And I miss you, Keiko! Japan is cool, but visit why don't you.

Hometown Retreats: the Brown University Greenhouse

It's been pretty damn cold the last few weeks. I love the cold, but sometimes it can get old, and I miss the company of green things. To that end, I like to pop into Brown U's greenhouse when I'm walking around town:



It's hot and humid and kind of small, pokey even. And it smells like my grandpa's greenhouse used to. I've always felt very at home in gardens, and maybe even more so in greenhouses. This one is also about the same size as the one attached to my grandparent's house, so it warms my heart a bit for that reason as well.



Plants grow riotously, against a backdrop of ashen winter landscape:



And there are sweet little details, like shells pressed into the concrete ages ago ... who do you think put them there? Sometimes I hate whimsy, but I love this:



Plus, I'm very fond of the light fixtures, so pendulous and full:



I wish I could have one for my dining room!

Graffiti to Love

I'm not one of those people who likes graffiti. It's cultural currency has been dead for years, and I'm such a sucker for craft that it is difficult for me to like things done quickly, furtively, in avoidance of arrest. Oh, and living in Rome it would drive me mad, all of these ancient monuments being permanently damaged, and in such pathetic ways: Latinized spellings of "Compton," as if any of these regazzi even knew where or what Compton is.

But ... well, these ...



have been showing up in my neighborhood ...



and speak another language alltogether. I'll admit I have no idea what they say, if anything, but I find them very beautiful in the way that they fade at the edges and somehow possess a certain dimensional quality, though formed from only one color.



They remind me of decorative writing in Arabic that you sometimes find on the sides of mosques, or of colliding pattern in fine old Portuguese tilework:

Jumpin' on the Bandwagon: I'm Building That Lindsey Adelman DIY Chandelier, Part I

Yes, I've succumbed. I've admired Lindsey Adelman's work for a long time, but you know, we can't all afford 10k chandeliers, and Steven & I happen to need overhead lighting in our dining room (there was a fiasco at a recent holiday dinner where the lighting was deemed too dim by guests [candelight, very atmospheric], and it was insisted that we turn on the light in the horrid ceiling fan). Remodelista to the rescue, by way of the Brick House:



Ms. Adelman has generously listed detailed instructions and material sources for this beautiful light fixture, the You Make It. But the real question is, can I possibly complete this for our dinner party this Saturday? This is what came in the mail on Monday, in a million pieces:



The wiring came yesterday, and I'm skeptical ... it look pretty dainty, very thin, but maybe that's what's inside light fixtures. I've figured from the diagrams how it all fits together (I think), without any of the arrangement that will make it a more dynamic object.

Results and explanations of struggles forthcoming.

Coveted Home: Finn Juhl House

The last few days I've been thinking about images to show the couple I'm doing freelance work for; we haven't even begun to talk about aesthetic, as thus far my work has been extremely straightforward -- basically surveying and recording existing conditions. Luckily, I came across images that I've collected of the Danish furniture designer Finn Juhl's house, in the Ordrupgaard suburb of Copenhagen. Its modest exterior ...



reveals a rich and ordered interior:



I had the great pleasure to visit when I was living in Denmark last summer, and was immediately seduced by its warmth and clarity. There are wonderful gathering & working spaces scattered throughout the house ...



... and details I love, like the massive 17th century Chinese exportware punch bowl being used as a wastepaper basket in the lower left. It doesn't hurt that there are lovely things like Kandinskys hanging around:



Almost all of the furniture is his own work:



Another stellar detail: the extension of the hearth bricks beyond the hood of the fireplace and into the room:



To my mind, Juhl was one of the great colorists of the 20th century, and the subtlety and grace of his color use in these interiors is lost in the photos; like so many things, you have to be there. But one thing I particularly love is his active use of colored ceilings (which reflect and effect surrounding light in a marvelous way). It's also a great way to integrate color in a way that is less aggressive than an overall paint color, and less imbalanced than an accent wall (a concept I despise). All of his rooms have considered ceilings, but the most distinct is in the dining room:



May I recommend you visit?

Second Lieutenant Agnes Kathryn Weiler

So you've seen her at 95, but this is my grandma at 27, being signed into the US Army:



I spent some time finding this image because the Army has no record of her military service, which aside from being irritating, keeps her from being eligible to receive certain benefits awarded veterans. We tracked this picture down in the Omaha World Herald, which published this photo in its July 29th evening paper of 1941. We hope that this will adequately prove her service, but aside from that, I'm just glad to have this little bit of her history.



Isn't she pretty?

She was only an Army nurse for 6 months, during which time she met a charming and handsome doctor, my grandpa Leo Heywood.

Vacations and Truly Apropos Monuments

So I have a very little (but actually fun) job working at a national clothing retailer often patronized by a certain prominent Ms. O. It is unfortunate in America that we do not issue warrants to indicate that certain stores are under employ to the State, or something, alla Great Britain:



But really, what would an American warrant look like? Would they just slap a big eagle on the front of the store?

Anyway, these days all we're getting in at the shop from corporate is beachwear. Beachwear, you say, in January? Yes, that's right folks. Apparently all of us are supposed to be jetting off to Bermuda. For me, there are several flaws in this reasoning. First, it's freezing here, where people actually live. I can't tell you how many customers come in asking for gloves, and are confronted with row upon row of board shorts. Second, it just makes me grumpy, because there is absolutely no way I can go on vacation.

However, were I to go on vacation, I can't imagine anything duller than spending time on a hot beach in a poor foreign country. No, not me. If the vacation gods came from on high and offered me reasonable airfare to any part of the world, I suspect I would elect to see this august monument in Southwest Scotland:



It's certainly more apropos than that 195,000,000 dollar WWII monument we built in Washington, and it doesn't look like something designed for Hitler by Albert Speer. Even though I have my little retail job and a few other little jobs, I am by no means making a living wage, and feel this simple granite monument represents me, too. However, it was carved under these conditions:

"The miners suffered a brutal defeat in the strike of 1921. In the aftermath miners' wages plummeted and there was widespread unemployment across the coal fields. This stone memorial to the death of a livelihood sits between Patna and Waterside in Ayrshire and is freshly painted each year by the descendent of a striker."

C.o. the Doon Valley Museum.

Toys that Move Me, and Themselves

A few nights ago a friend ended an email with the question, "do you like toys?" I was a bit flummoxed, as his meaning was unclear -- his family is heavily involved in the sex industry, but our letters are very proper. In times like these, I err on the side of propriety. I mean, Legos? Yes, please. Playmobile? Count me in. And I have a most unmanly love of very fine dollhouses (and all things diminutive), perhaps because they are often exquisite architectural and interior models. The Thorne Rooms shaped me from infancy.

But if you really want to know what gets me off, I'd have to say it is automatons, hands down. They must be antique, though, and those are vastly expensive, like literally tens of thousands of dollars. I wouldn't hesitate to spend amounts typically reserved for cars or major surgery on a fine French monkey smoking under a glass dome, or a flowering orange tree.

Those of you who know me well already know my deep love for grottoes, born in the gardens of the Villa d'Este. Add dancing and forget it, I'm in love:



My brother's girlfriend is very charming and scruffy, and also happens to be a harpist. This treasure reminds me of her, and for this reason, I believe it should be given to me:



These are long, but extremely worth watching in entirety. In the first, watch for the orange tree that was entirely copied in the horrid film The Illusionist:



Creepy: "Their hearts are not hearts, but copper springs. Their lungs are not lungs, but leathern bellows ..."



And if you're looking for a little token to show that you love me (Steven? Reading this?), you might pick up a little something like this:

Cat Tongues and Lunch for Three

Last week many things happened that were fun and definitely lifted my general mood. One of the biggest developments is that Steven & I finally caught one of Julius the Cat's best mannerisms on film:



She's going on twenty, and sometimes she forgets little things, like putting her tongue away. I mean, I forget little things all the time, so I understand where she's coming from. Also, we had Steven's grandmother Joyce over for lunch. I don't think I've shown you my dining room before:



So Steven whipped up a fresh little meal of tomato soup with tuna salad sandwiches, made with this incredible Portuguese tuna he's discovered, accompanied by a nice Portuguese white. One of the great things about living in this part of the country is the abundance of inexpensive, fine Portuguese imports. We are, after all, a sailing town, and Portuguese sailors moved here in droves. (How many times can we say Portuguese in one paragraph? I'd also like to point out one of our latest finds, a Nakashima for Knoll dining chair, bought at a local church sale for all of $2. The cushion was a present from the family of weavers Anna and I stayed with in the Middle Atlas Mountains of Morocco. )

I used a lot of fun junk: multi-colored water glasses from a Grand Manan garage sale, a pair of late 18th cen. brass candle sticks (English? American?) from the local flea, IKEA bowls, Dansk plates from a junk store, 60s Royal Copenhagen from when I studied in Denmark (so cheap there, it killed me. It was the only cheap thing in the whole country), some jade bi-disks from a Chinese tomb (via Porta Portese market, Rome), massive and heavy granite bowl from a follower of Noguchi (garage sale in Chicago), bronze clock counterweight, boxwood from Steven's parent's yard, bronze and water buffalo horn tableware from the 60s, a pretty little clementine for color (can you see it?), etc, etc.



I added some amethyst grapes. I've never been able to do "less is more."



Delicious! With cucumbers and cheese, and sweetened Spanish flatbread after. Yum. The conversation was also excellent -- Joyce is very opinionated and knowledgeable on a wide range of topics, and we talked at length on whether Fanny Bryce was worthy of Keats, culinary practice in 1950s Winnetka (a rather snooty lakeside suburb of Chicago), life as the wife of an ad man (think Mad Men), Thomas Mann, Annie Proulx and whether it is appropriate to command Steven to make me a red velvet birthday cake in our antique lobster-shaped aspic mold (apparently not).

Resolutions, 2010

My traditional Resolutions partner, Sasha, is living across the country in Portland, and our yearly location, Kopi Cafe, is out of bounds in Chicago. Here we are discussing something silly and inappropriate in San Francisco at breakfast, New Years, 2006:



So, what shall we resolve to do this year?

1. Achieve gainful employment that actually utilizes some of my skills. I'm vaguely scraping by on a hodgepodge of random little things right now, some more regular than others. I want regular and stimulating work that pays me commensurate with my skills and education.

2. Better utilize my abundance of free time. I've come to realize that I should view this slump as an opportunity to do some design work that I never had time for before. I'm working on a line of lighting goods with a friend, and we'll see where that goes. I'd also like to get back into textile work, with silkscreen:



And other little projects. Maybe take part in the RISD Alumni show? That would be fun.

3. Spend more time in places I love. It is altogether too easy to sit at home when not pushed to go out. More running around is called for, more jaunts to my favorite local haunts, like the North Burial Grounds:



4. Exercise regularly!



I had a little kettle bells regimen all worked out, but that fell by the wayside somewhere around Thanksgiving. The real problem is that Steven needs to prepare less delicious food.

5. Spend more time with things that go bang!



Like guns, fireworks, archery and Steven. I just mean that I should seek out excitement in all I do, and hope you will too. So what is everyone else thinking this New Years? Any excellent resolutions? I'm not above taking ideas.

Grandma

I wrote in earlier posts about how sad I was that I would not be able to make it back to Chicago or Omaha for Christmas, but fate played a double-edged hand (and mixed metaphor), and because of a scary and sudden change in my grandmother's health, I found myself deep in the Midwest.

Gather we did. Here I am with my aunt and uncle from Sun Valley, and my dear grandmother, Agnes:



Of course you know that 95 is quite old, and that eventually there will be a lessening of the mind and weakness of the body, but nothing can prepare you for the frustration loved ones feel in the process. Last summer we made fudge and potato salad and lasagna together, with these hands:



It would be impossible to overstate my grandma's influence on my life. Her unerring taste was what interested me in design, and for most of my life she lived in an exquisitely beautiful house of the edge of a bluff and large park. Almost half the square footage was taken up by an extraordinary greenhouse. There were orchids and oranges and poinsettias the size of large bushes. Why must care for the elderly always take place in dim rooms with cinder block walls?



She is well cared for, her health stabilized, but the change of affairs is sad. I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and she answered without pause that she could always use some Chanel No.5, and a Rolls Royce never hurt. She was only half-kidding, of that you can be sure. But mostly we played cards and gossiped about stars she had met in the 30s: Sonia Henie (the great figure skater, movie star and Nazi), Barbara Stanwyck and Betty Rogers.

Here my brother, father and grandma play peanuckle:



This one goes out to you, grandma. Let's make 2010 great, and celebrate 96 in the Fall.

A Quiet Recognition of the Transformative Quality of Snow, and the New Year

Bleary-eyed and useless, this morning I sat on a stool in my bathroom clipping my nails, and thought of the warmer months, when I can load one of summer's greatest flea market finds, this articulated Victorian cast iron plant stand, with living things:



Why is it in our bathroom? Good question. Mostly it's a complete lack of space elsewhere, but also because I enjoy throwing clothing on it when I shower. I'm just wild like that. Anyway, nails properly groomed, I stood up and saw this:



You see, I don't at all mind the cold, but it seems like a complete waste if unaccompanied by snow. But snow! What a surprise, lovely snow. And the wonderful sensation of being naked in a warm and steamy room, with a lovely view of the newly-whitewashed world. This will be a good day:



And while making oatmeal, this view from our kitchen of the statehouse:



Adios alla 2009. Overall good, but too many friends lost to life abroad and death, and complicated by poverty and graduation and everything else that comes with transition. I'm all about the elegance of 2010 on the page, and fully expect this to be the greatest year yet of my life. I love you, 2010 ... it may be the champagne talking, but I don't think so.

To all of you, thanks for giving me a little bit of your time, and let's have beautiful, snowy lives together (even you, Holly, in balmy Bangalore). What shall I put in my plant stand? Any green thumbs in the peanut gallery?

Who Knew I Wanted a Baseball Uniform?

I love all these striped wools ... I would use them for upholstery. There is nothing better than a woven stripe.



I'm not sure where I found these, but I wish I had them myself.