Monday, January 31, 2011

Days of Rest

Our littlest boy, Rex Michael, turned one this past weekend. Naturally, my emotions sat somewhere between unabridged joy at watching my blue-eyed baby blossom into a healthy, happy toddler, and heavyhearted sadness over the fact that my little guy is growing quicker than I care to acknowledge on a day-to-day basis. In honor of this, his special day, we headed to Panera for a bagel & cookie breakfast, which he surely seemed to enjoy (a full-blown carnival themed celebration in his honor planned in weeks ahead)

Other than that, we took advantage of these lazy, dampish days void of any committed engagements. Slow weekends are not what we are used to around here so it was refreshing to remember what it feels like to break away from rushed schedules and clock stalking hours sucking us into an overpacked car, unto a typically clogged freeway. Besides extra lov'n for the birthday boy, we rediscovered long naps, Ray Charles, took a drive in the rain, painted purple monsters, tried a new recipe for chicken and wild rice soup (success!) worked on some photo framing ideas, found a favorite, but forgotten vintage Chanel turtle neck tucked beneath the bed, and even saw a movie. Blue Valentine. So real it hurt.

Hopefully this isn't the last of these types of sluggish, restful days. Slowing up a little does wonders for the soul. And a little rain and homebound adventure never hurt anyone either.  

Friday, January 28, 2011

Carrie's Corner

Yesterday afternoon I watched an episode of Sex in the City for the first time in many years. Aside from some cringe worthy fashion picks on Ms. Bradshaw's part - don't get me wrong, some of them still make me swoon - I was more struck by the lasting allure of her stylish York City apartment. A fact I don't remember noticing as a 19 year old waitress perched on my mother's couch every Sunday night, watching the show in it's hey day. But then again, I was probably too enthralled with the gold horse shoe hanging from her neck or Aiden in bed to really give a damn. Yet taking a closer look, the appeal is evident to me now. Her place looks lived in. It spells Carrie in each and every corner, from the whimsical antique fabrics in her room, to the flea market accents she couples with studier mid-century staples in the sitting room. Leaning art keeps the feeling modern and light while stacks of books and well wrestled mags piled randomly around the place lend a warm touch to an otherwise slightly bare space. Seems to me the kind of spot we'd all love to hunker down, share a drink and spill our secrets.

Shopping bags, newspapers and rowed magazine archives great you at the door.
Ideal introduction if you ask me. 

Simple Shelving and matching frames lend a modern air while the makeshift radiator nightstand keep it quirky and fun. The rug, vintage bench and wicker basket give it a perfect dose of femininity. A balance consistent throughout the apartment. 

A striped down kitchen is a nod to the obvious. Carrie does not cook. And why should she, with all those fabulous spots to lunch with equally charming friends

The coffee table and her lighting feel practical yet unexpected. And who can forget the "Aiden Chair?" To this day it makes me weak in the knees to remember the handsome carpenter with a love for classic craftsmanship. Anyone?

The closet, being the heart of this home, embodies Carrie's ever restless spirit. Organized, but only to a certain extent. Rumpled enough to remind us of her endlessly enduring clothes horse nature.  

The bathroom feels almost too real, which is why I admire it so. Who doesn't love subway tile and flat irons living together in harmony?

Lastly, the place of contemplation. A classic NY brownstone, where cigarettes, tears, and goodbye kisses always seem to follow. Now that I think about it, I guess I do miss that show. . .

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Flat Lands

Whitney Gardner is a good friend of mine. She lives in a quaint house in the middle of the desert, with her beau, a tattoo artist, and her dog Willow, who looks more like a coyote than most coyotes I've seen. Here, amidst glorious sunsets and big, bright swollen moons, Whitney dreams vividly about Mark Twain. She paints and cooks and carves and sings, and in what hours that remain, hands cold beer to stragglers & tourists at a local bar down the way. Getting a chance to visit with her always feels like opening a treasure chest; evenings colored by new scattered art projects, old records, mid-night sing-a-longs, and, on this particular occasion- in honor of her, and her sister's birthday- tables crowded with ridiculously delicious homemade pizza. Complete with fresh cut cacti toppings (Yes, that was a first for me too) Seeing how many slices I devoured and how many wheat beers I drained, it is no wonder I'm feeling a little sluggish today. Back home with my boys, after my night away, we are gearing up for a slew of birthday festivities. Back on track as they say, eagerly awaiting our next jaunt to Joshua Tree, to Whitney's wild lot, where little Willow, brisk air, and those awkwardly beautiful trees are waiting. Next time boys. I promise.

Whitney's art available here


Saturday, January 22, 2011

  Sidewalk Style Salute: Isabel Lucas



Wednesday, January 19, 2011

William Eggleston

this is beginning to be my new favorite kind of light. it brings out a spectrum that appeals to me, warmer colors that i don’t always notice at other times. it’s like when a thunderstorm moves through and the light changes swiftly from cold to warm.” - william eggleston

Missed the L.A exhibit for W. Eggleston's Democratic Camera. Feeling sorry for myself this warm Wednesday afternoon, where second rate web fawning will have to suffice.