A room of their own

Long before the kids' room was a bedroom, it was our den, where we as a young unmarried couple spent countless hours lounging and watching tv. And long, long ago, before the building was divided into condos—when the grand old Victorian house housed just one family and Elm trees lined South Union Street, where there were no cars, but just horses and buggies—we think it was probably a dining room. The dumb-waiter door to the en suite loo suggests it was probably the staff entrance to the kitchens. And the large stain glass windows feature a cornucopia of colorful fruit.

As a den, it was our favorite room in the house, but it took some time and some compromise to turn it into the space we loved. The wall color was the thing. The room has beautiful mahogany woodwork. But there is a lot of it and it is dark. When we bought the apartment in 2008, the walls were painted white and the stark contrast against the wood gave the room an odd cold feeling. It needed color to play off the warmth of the wood. I wanted navy blue. Col wanted teal. We ended up consulting a color therapist. I don't believe that is her true occupational title, but the woman was brilliant and found us a middle point—blue Danube.

So we painted and we decorated. We bought our first sofa together and put it in that room. We made creative used of the old closed-up fireplace by putting our tv there. It was a wonderful sanctuary and we spent more time there than any other room in the house.

Three years later, we had our first child and needed a room for her. Our only choice was to transform the den into a nursery. It was hard at first to give that up to a being who we had not even met yet.

In a somewhat noncommittal fashion, we decided to keep the blue walls and most everything else the way it was. I'm glad we did that. Those walls and that room tell a story—about the early years of our relationship, marriage and starting a family together. 

Soon after Amelia was born, I remember hanging up alphabet cards on the wall with little clothespins. I had purchased them earlier that day—my first outing alone after I had given birth. My mom had stayed home with the baby and then held her as she watched me attach cards one by one over the crib, transforming our den into a baby room.

There's something magic about that room that seems to welcome and adapt to each phase of our life. 

Some nights when Amelia was a small baby and I spent hours holding her in the darkness of that room, I sensed there were others in there with me. Spirits from families past watching over us. I would imagine dinner parties in the old dining room—liveliness, laughter and candlelight with the butler standing so still and upright in the corner.

Sometimes the presence would spook me and I'd rush to switch on the light. I still get chills thinking about it now, though I haven't sensed the spirits in a long time. Perhaps they observed long enough to feel comfortable letting us live in this dwelling and they decided to let us be. 

Now we are a family of four and the room is shared between toddler and baby. We added a dresser, we tidied things up. Amelia's toddler bed now takes the place under the fireplace mantle. But we didn't change much else and I'm glad about that.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to take some photos and submit them to a design website that I like. They featured the photos a couple of days ago in their user-submitted column. People started commenting on the page and I was surprised at how touched people were by the space—and the color. 

I feel as though I can't take much credit. It is not a consciously designed room, it just adapts little by little to the needs of our family. It is a room that lives and breathes, right along with those who inhabit it. Perhaps the spirits are still there, somewhere in the walls, making accommodations to our silent requests. Then quietly taking note of our moments, significant and otherwise, writing them down with forever ink onto the long parchment scroll that tells this building's history. It is magic, and I feel so lucky to be a part of the story.

Our old den:

Amelia & Angus' Lively Lovely Room (Apartment Therapy) 

The Babby Room (Penelope Post)

a rickety, but creative, process

During both pregnancies, my sister Emma had her baby bump set in a belly cast as a memento. Hannah painted a scene of an African savanna on the first one.

When Em told me she wanted me to paint the belly cast from Teo, I was at the same time excited and nervous. I didn't want to mess it up. And it's been a reaallllly long time since I've done any painting.

Emi asked if I could do a marine life scene. So at first I thought I might do the same color scheme as Hannah's painting, but instead of silhouette, I would make the water dark and the fishies bright and colorful. So I started with a bright yellow base coat.

Then I painted on the deep blue sea...

I had turned my dining room into a studio. I was getting in the groove again. It felt good.

But then I got stuck. I knew I wanted to do mamas and babies. But suddenly school bus yellow seemed totally wrong for the whales, basking in some sun rays from above. And I wanted to make the dolphins blue too. The palette was turning tonal. "That's okay," I thought. "I'll do a coral reef and tropical fish at the bottom and they be bright and colorful." Colin even started helping me by painting some of the coral reef.

Problem was, I didn't like it. Something didn't feel right, no matter how much I painted and painted, but I couldn't put my finger on it. So I put it away for a while. I sort of forgot about it for a bit, though in the back of my mind, there was a gnawing feeling. Must. finish. that. painting.

Then inspiration manifested itself in the most unexpected place. I was at a dinner party, where my friend Kadina was painting faces. The electric green animal print she painted on my face was super-cool.

Hannah snap a photo on my iPhone and we carried on with our night. But the next day, I looked at it again and suddenly I had the inspiration I needed. I pulled out the belly cast and all of my paints and art supplies and I got to painting. Green, lots of green. I muted the sea turtles. I painted over the fire orange sea horses. I green-tinted the crabs. I even covered up the yellow strips on the angelfish. The last to go was the coral reef. I left just enough coral-colored coral for a little pop.

Now, the only yellow that's left are little specs of the undercoat peeking through the deep blue water. It looks like electrified plankton drifting through the sea.

Dang, that felt good. It's done. I gave it to Em & Kev yesterday. I'm pleased. Here it is.

inspiration: buy local art

It's that time of year again: tax return time. Col and I decided that if we did get any money back this year, no matter what we did with it, we wanted to use at least some of it to buy some art. We've both been pining over a couple of paintings by Greg Mamczak, a Burlington artist who used to share a studio with our friend Isaac. He does these awesomely vivid paintings in his paint-by-number-style that has you looking for hours. So we got in touch and one of the paintings we liked was still available—it's one of his simpler ones from 2006. Greg dropped the painting off yesterday and we were so excited. Not only because we love it and we're adding to the art in our house, but also because we're supporting a local artist. So here is our Untitled 2006. yay!

day 3: feeling saturated & inspirational photos to sooth

There's something magical that happens when you first open a tube of watercolor paint, squeeze some of the saturated pigment into a dish, soften it slowly with water and a paint brush, then sweep it in light strokes across a piece of cotton paper. By way of the water, saturation inherits clarity and airiness. It becomes accessible and approachable.

I don't think this is necessarily a good quality that I have, but I tend to fit too much in. I have a hard time saying no to requests and invitations, I make commitments, and on top of that I set unrealistic goals for myself. Does this sound familiar? I think we've all just become really good multitaskers. It all seems to work out, though, in some uncanny way.

I know I'm over-saturated when every spare moment is spent (yes, even spare moments are spent doing something!) looking for moments of asylum and clarity.

I need something to water me down.

This 20/20 cure thing I'm doing is really helping in that regard. Today's task was to find inspirational photos for our home. It was perfect actually, because this month's Elle Decor was in my mailbox when I got home and I had no trouble flipping through and finding tons of photos to inspire.

Colin and I decided that our next project is probably going to be turning the basement into a guest suite. We're inheriting an amazing bed from Kevin's parents. For colors, we're really feeling warm earthy tones with lots of airiness to balance it out.

I keep thinking to myself: how would I want it to be if I were going to stay there for a weekend myself? I would want it to be a quiet get-away: an asylum; a calming space to wash away some of the saturation and turn it into a watercolor. Sounds lovely, right? I want our basement bedroom to be an airy watercolor painting.

These pictures make me think of that.

design inspirations

It's been a while since I posted any updates on what we've been doing around the house. We haven't done much painting, but since the wedding, we've acquired some lovely art and pieces of furniture.

Our block print and quilted pillow from Kauai:



Our new photo from Sabin Gratz (sorry about the glare):


Our new glass table, which I absolutely love:



A new/old chandelier we found at a local consignment shop:

A lovebird print for the master bedroom:


And more to come! Including an amazing peacock painting from Isaac...

sapphire sketch

Happy New Year! I finally had some down time this week and spent a couple days doing something I've been wanting to do for months: draw. So I did a portrait of my niece Sapphire. I think it came out pretty well considering the last time I drew or painted was years ago. (So sad!) It even kind of looks like her. Anywho, here's a scan of the Sapphie sketch. Watercolor pencils on paper.

you, me and the couch

It's been one of those weeks. Wake up go to work. Work. Get home late. Eat dinner on the couch. Watch T.V. (It's not all bad: Watching Heidi and Sarah back to back on Wednesday night was an interesting, if not pointless, study in American culture). Go to bed. Wake up. Go back to work. Is that what they call the grind? That's not what I want to be doing with the rest of my life, that's for sure.

Emma mentioned I haven't written on Eat Peas since June. Quelle tragédie! Is it awful to say this? I kind of forgot about it. Should I just bag the whole thing or carry on? I certainly have much to write these days on nourishment and I can't wait to tell you about the ice cream recipe I concocted last night: candied figs and Vermont plums, cassis, a little Syrah and toasted pine nuts with a Jersey cream custard. Can you handle it? I certainly can't. And I've been stuffing my face with it ever since it came out of the spinner.

Okay, I'm determined to stay off the couch all weekend. So for now, I'm off to hop on some art.

Loveyoubye.

a present a day

It's Colin's birthday week. He turns 32 on Friday. We've got lots of activities planned for the weekend: NYC, friend time, surfing on Long Island, karaoke in the city...

This year, I had a really hard time figuring out what to get him. So I got him a bunch of little things and decided to give him one a day till Friday. Here's the first:


2 red-eye robot mugs made by a Burlington artist, Dan Siegel. (Found him at the Burlington Farmers' Market.)

Oh, and what did Colin buy for himself? Two tickets for the both of us to see Sigur Ros in Montreal in September. YES!!!

xoxo

if you do spend it, spend it on local art

I met my friends Beth and Jewel for dinner last night at Flatbread (soooo good!). Somehow or other, our conversation turned to the stimulus package. I told them my plans for keeping it in the bank. Beth had a better idea: buy some local art. She too, plans to put save most of the money, but she's also setting aside a little bit of it to buy two prints from her favorite local artist.

Most people want to buy a bigger TV, a new game console, or go clothes shopping. The economic stimulus package is designed to encourage spending and stimulate our economy but most of the things Americans buy are manufactured overseas. And due to quality issues, most of it doesn’t have much of a shelf life. And a piece of art will last a lifetime. I know it sounds cheesy but it is true.

Please consider buying art and contributing to the artists who will build up the American culture as opposed to taking away from it."

Read her full post (and maybe even buy one of her beautiful handmade Strange Dolls!)

in the details, nature

I found much inspiration in the English country side. The endless combinations of textures and colors drew my attention as much to close surfaces as it did to the broad landscapes. Once I got all my photos off my camera, I noticed that I had taken many close-up pictures of interesting compositions. I did it somewhat without realizing it, but looking at them now, I find myself drawn to them again and again.

I keep discovering new things about them. Like, for one, a recurring church theme. Also, most of them seem to portray something human or manmade deteriorating—over-run by nature. By age or weather. I love the vibrant green algae on the wooden fences and clapboard siding. It's from, I imagine, the damp weather there. We don't get that kind of wear and tear in Vermont. It's too cold. Or too dry. So for me, it's beautiful. For others, it might be a nuisance.

Here are some of my favorite detail images. I like to think of them as "vignettes." They're evocative. They tell a story. I'll give a little clue. You can make up the rest...


Wheels, in a church yard in Dorchester, Dorset.


Exposed brick from what's left of a building in the deserted village of Tyneham, which was evacuated during World War II.


Lichen on a gravestone in the Tyneham church cemetery, Dorset.


Slate walk-way in a Dorchester church yard.


A window railing in Dorchester.


Beautiful poisonous berries in a hedgerow.


On a public foot path in Whitecombe, Dorset.


Garden shed behind Uncle Richard and Aunt Carrie's house.


A tiled floor at the Sherborne Abbey in Sherborne, Dorset.


Wooden doors at the church in Marston Magna, Somerset, where Mummy was born and where Gaffa and Granny now rest in peace together.

hot house of inspiration

I just happened upon this lovely little print in my bedroom. It's a handkerchief that Col brought back for me on one of his trips to Asia. I've been meaning to do something with it, so I put it in a pile of things I wanted to do something with, and there it's been gathering dust for months and months. Here, I'm passing it on to you...

What's her story—that porcelain lady—swathed in a riot of colorful silk color and wispy wisteria? She's a mother, perhaps. She is Nature. She is Imagination—awakened from her winter lull—leading us to to the garden of Inspiration. Hot house, more like. It is Vermont in March, after all. Yes, we awake slowly to spring around here. So here. Here's a seedling to add to your hot house—a beautiful image to inspire you today.

more holiday crafts

After the pomander ball, some of us gals got together last night to work on holiday crafts. Once we got underway, I looked around and noticed that most everyone was sewing—and quite well I might add! Who knew there was so much hidden talent and resourcefulness among us? I must say I think Emma's mini clothespin doll ornaments stole the show. She made one for each of us ladies (they even look like us!) and had time after that to whip up one of Kevin, their dog Cooper, a Jewish snowman for our friend Brett, and a Hawaiian hula lady to go with the Christmas song, Mele Kalikimaka, that kept playing over and over on our holiday playlist. I'm thinking this might be a special calling she never knew about til now. What do you think, Em?

As for me, it took me the entire evening to make just one ornament—a star stitched from the silk of an old nightgown with buttons and ribbons from various sources. The star along with my mini clothespin lady are now on the tree.

oranges

This time of year, we bring oranges to the table and the smell alone is enough to evoke Christmas memories and remind us of the traditions we once loved dear.

In our house growing up, oranges were a holiday treat. We'd shave the zest into Mummy's English shortbread. We'd flavor the brandy butter for the figgy pudding with orange liquor. Every year we'd receive a large box of fresh Florida oranges from Mama Sonia and Papa Roger—each fruit individually wrapped in white and gold tissue paper. When Santa came he'd always leave an orange in the toe of our stocking. (That's how we knew we were at the bottom!)

We'd make pomander balls by poking a plump orange with fragrant whole cloves and hanging it to dry. As a child this was one of my favorite Christmas activities—and it still is! Moreso than gift-giving, carol-singing, Christmas-shopping and cookie baking. Now, whenever I smell orange and clove, I think, "Christmas, special, family, shortbread, happy, cozy, pomander ball!"

I love the idea of relegating the orange—such a special fruit—to holiday enjoyment. These days, when we're able to get any kind of food or fruit any time of the year, I yearn for the simplicity of yesteryears' traditions. When having certain things at certain times made those things special (oranges in December, strawberries in June). We find nourishment in that simplicity and we pass it on so that others may also know that feeling and grow from it. So here, I pass on our beloved pomander balls to be enjoyed during the holidays:

How to Make Pomander Balls

You'll need: 1 orange, ribbon and whole cloves.

Wrap the ribbon around the orange once, then twist and wrap the other way like a present. Tie the ends into a bow. Insert the cloves into the skin of the orange until the surface is evenly covered. If the fruit is juicy, you can roll the pomander ball in ground cinnamon to absorb the liquid. Then hang the fruit to dry in an airy place. Retie the ribbon every couple of days as the fruit dries and shrinks. Eventually, after a few weeks the fruit will harden and become completely dry. At that point, you can tie off the ends of the ribbon into a knot and hang as an ornament on the tree!

pregnancy, plums, peas, and a painting

I wrote a poem about plums once—I had a bowl of perfectly ripe plums ready to burst. Seeing the plums and holding them in my hand reminded me of a pregnant woman's belly. So I wrote about it. I wrote about what it must feel like to lose control of your own body. To have to displace a piece of your body to make room for a new one. It might get messy at times, but the ultimate joy it elicits has no match. But there's also an element of fear there. Fear of the unknown, for, truth be told, I don't really know what it's like being pregnant. My friend Elisa does though. She wrote this week's posting for Eat Peas Weekly.

Pregnancy is in us all I suppose—well, us women at least—whether we've experienced it or not. Whether we like it or not. Even if we never get pregnant. The idea of pregnancy is ingrained subconsciously in our biological and psychological make-up. But I didn't always think this, or think about it. Yet the feelings and the shapes would always surface unexpectedly in my creative output.

I remember during my final senior art show as a student at Middlebury College, a woman from the campus newspaper came to interview me and review the show—a culmination of 4 years of intense work and exploration. She mentioned an apparent pregnancy theme in all of my female figures. I think I returned her comment with a blank stare. If it was indeed there, it was purely unintentional and I told her so. But looking now, I'm in awe that I—the creator of it—could not see such an obvious statement in plain view. It's there, is it not? The pregnant woman in the painting, flying through the air (jumping or falling?) gracefully full speed ahead. How could I be so blind to it? Or so dismissive?