Saturday, in Brooklyn, we took a walk around Greenpoint, avoiding busy streets and enjoying the sunshine. As we walked I collected these:

I was talking to my friend V about all sorts of things: the meaning of life, mandalas, colored pencils…

A couple of hours later she sent me a picture of this amazing 13th century field structure, near Montady in France. And it made me think of the meaning of life, mandalas, and colored pencils.

Sometimes when I need to look at something different, or to see differently, I click through the inspiration section of Clarina Bezzola’s website. Many of the images are disturbing or creepy, yet I find myself stopped again and again by the marvelous mystery, unlabeled or explained.

There are red circles everywhere. In the tomato bowl,

the painting of apples by Chris Linder,

the plums I ended up cutting up and freezing for a winter tart,

and the peaches, unbelievably good peaches, sitting on the sill.

Longwood Gardens is over 1000 acres of horticultural intensity.

Huge conservatories, an orchid house to die for, meadows, tree houses tucked into the forest of tulip trees, Versailles-worthy fountains, giant topiary…

We spent two days there and I feel like I just scratched the surface.
You should go.

In the end what struck me most were details.

The stonework everywhere:

Shapes and textures:

And the most beautiful Copper Beech tree I’ve ever seen:

I’ve come home with a whole lot of inspiration for the next jewelry designs. And an even longer list of “I need” plants than I had before.

We’ve been home for five days and still I’m posting pictures of our little vacation. Clearly I was in dire need of a break.

I took pictures of our room at the Country Squire. As I was looking at them, deciding which to post, I noticed the connections between some of the details:

Speaking of details – we visited Olana, Frederic Church’s house overlooking the Hudson.

The building is covered in ornament, inside and out. It reminded me of the work of Horta and Charles Rennie Macintosh; complete design with all the elements considered in unison. Makes me want to create a home that is in itself a work of art.

Unfortunately the guide was most specific in her veto of indoor photography and, as per usual with these things, none of the postcards or books in the gift shop showed enough of the detailed stenciling and carving that I wanted to run home and emulate. A six-month stenciling obsession nipped in the bud.

This’ll be my last “I’m in love with Hudson” post. I think. I’ll try.
“Be here now. Be here now…”

Hudson is very, very quiet; especially compared to New York. The silence made it easy to stop and notice the details.

I walked by this building a lot before noticing the intricate tiles above the main windows.

Somehow they manage to be bold and subtle at the same time, and remind me of this page from the 1989 Quilt Engagement Calendar, which I kept.

The quilt is called Late Fall, by Junko Okuyama based on the Broken Dishes pattern. I just googled the artist and found that Wee Wonderfuls blogged this same quilt 3 years ago. We should start a fan club.

Soon after my last move a friend gave me a bunch of furniture, including a wicker arm chair which she’d found on a Brooklyn street. It’s very comfortable, and my cat Annabelle has adopted it for her own. This is Annabelle’s chair:

Yesterday my building had a stoop sale. We were setting up and I saw my upstairs neighbor bring out a chair that looked identical to mine. I told him, and he said that he too had found his chair on the street – when he lived in Hong Kong. Two chairs found abandoned on the street, in cities on opposite sides of the planet, living in the same building.

Throughout the day I kept staring at his chair, imagining someone buying it and carrying it away; I couldn’t bear the thought. Mid-afternoon I asked him if his price was firm. “You know what – for you, free. They should be together.”

I’m beginning to suspect that while we may believe we’re masters of our own destiny, in fact our stuff is sucking us in the wake of it’s own purpose.

I’ve been thinking about things. Physical objects. How much I love particular tools and materials. A fragment of lace, one bead, my desk, a collection of postcards. Stuff.

Being the well-intentioned child of socially conscious parents I recoil from defining myself as materialistic. However the more I think about it, the more I’m finding validity in the word. I do love this material world, and the way the physical can carry a story and preserve meaning.

When I was little I played a game with myself. I would stare at my most cherished and familiar belongings, striving to make them unfamiliar. Something would pop and, rather like the description of switching from left to right brain in Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, I would see my Teddy bear the way a stranger would, as a scuffed toy with a zipper across it’s back.

I don’t want to play that game anymore. Instead I’d like to explore more deeply the relationships I have with objects. See what comes up.

I love these two wooden spoons. The short one came to me in a batch of kitchen utensils when my ex’s grandmother moved into a home and distributed her belongings. It was already worn down on an angle from years of meals.

The large spoon was brand new when I bought it. I was working in a kitchen supply store, and for a while I oiled it, the way you’re ‘supposed’ to. I like it better now that it’s dried out and stained. The burn down the left side just happened last week when I left it too close to the flame. Still works good.