Archive for the ‘Reflective’ Category

Textured Time

What a week! As I sit from my perch at the side of a quiet, yet dignified old brownstone fireplace amongst the personal effects that make my life meaningful: husband, heavy tomes + light novellas alike, a sundry of objets trouves from our travels,and one special piece I made called Textured Time, I sense an approaching serenity.

Quelle surprise. This is the sentiment of a woman who usually finds herself in a flurry of activity on Sunday.  Always. Wanting. More. Until sidelined with a physically debilitating and emotionally crushing flu that threw me into a serious bout of self reflection.

Last night when my husband buried me under the covers, willing my fever to break, a slew of images swirled about. In the onset of visual vertigo and a deafening – literally – ear infection, I relived the week’s monumental happenings.

The private event at the Museum of Art & Design, the culmination of a month-long sprint of politicking and art prattling, turned out to be one of the most rewarding art events I’ve planned to date.

This photo reminds me of the days I used to coordinate luncheons in the arts for prominent art collectors. This one, though, had the Clueless Crafter branded all over it: lighthearted exchange amongst a bevy of beautiful and intriguing decorative objects.

The article Don’t Do It Yourself, born out of a year’s rumination on the rewards and risks of the handmade life.

The handmade clock Textured Time (which I truly adore and therefore named!) is the result of the Bauhaus Lab I attended at The Museum of Modern Art.

My interpretation of a day recorded in the material world. Feathers mark daybreak; creams punctuated by black velour signify the struggle to wake; soft blues and silkyviolet show the daily humdrum; and, heavy orange plaids are the day's seconds woven together, fiery with hope and the prospect of another day richly lived.

And now last week’s excitement is screeching to a halt and another week is on the brink.  I am left with sights, sounds, and feelings of a time that will never have the same texture.  There is a profound sense of loss as I grapple with the past and the will to go forward.  What next?

The hard part about life is loss.  Sometimes all we can do is cling longingly to a relic.  I’m glad that this evening I have Textured Time with me.  Thank god I made it.

What textures of time gone by do you cherish most?

Who Your Duppy?

Millie making her fabled curried mutton while Oswald models the proverb plate.

Millie making her fabled curried mutton while Oswald models the proverb plate.

Fresh from a Jamaican holiday where I spent an entire week doing nothing myself – Yah mon, meals, beds, and laundry were all done by dear Millie, Oswald and Angela, the villa’s staff – I had all opportunity in the world to become an arrogant, mindless, tourist-jerk.  And, quite frankly, I came close.  Fortuitously, I was saved by a decorative plate and its intriguing description, “Ebery cave-hole hab him own duppy.”

Now, I have been confused by Jamaican patois many a time.  This dialect comes straight from the slaves who cleverly devised a method of  communication to befuddle their masters.

But, as we bridge the New Year, I want to talk about our duppies.  A duppy in Caribbean folklore is a malevolent spirit.  In the inscription “Ebery cave-hole hab him own duppy,” the duppy stands for “troubles.”  As we walk, crawl reluctantly or sprint toward a new year, we must acknowledge what troubles us.

In 2010, what will will your duppy look like? Will it create or destroy?

Who your duppy?

*For more on the etymology of duppy, amuse here.

On Continuity

Pieter Brueghel, The Elder (1565).  A stop-dead-in-your-tracks vision of the hunt.  At this moment, I can see the shadows of my art history professor's gesticulations on the wall of the lecture hall, carrying us through the scene guided by a private passion unleashed.

Pieter Brueghel, The Elder (1565). A stop-dead-in-your-tracks vision of the hunt.

In my world –  that little microcosm that rotates next to yours – the holiday season stirs the hunt: The hunt for love, attention, food, shelter and, on my Upper West Side, for the path that is bound to lead our future family to great fortune.

But the hunt for food is not the same as fortune.  The former fulfills primitive need; the latter, modern desire.

This very early morning before the sky was fully light and I was still with myself, I secretly plunged into the tallest snowbank.  Ice, cold, fear and freedom overwhelmed my Wellies and for a split second all I wanted was warmth, not a bit more.  The hunt was over.

Feeling at one with the primeval search, a sense of serenity infiltrates my harried holiday soul. Clueless and hubby must now go to warmer climes, to be with sisters and parents.  And, to craft local dishes such as cho-cho, kallaloo, pop-chow, curried goat, and ox-tail stew alongside Millie, a chef who preserves his island’s heritage with pride.

Where does your hunt end?  How do you come home for the holiday?

Ad Continuum,

The Clueless Crafter

What-if Holidays

With Thanksgiving 2009 in the bag and my feeling a bit more like one, I have had a precious moment to reflect.

The fete commenced Wednesday night with the requisite - if you’re a New Yorker, a bit whimsical, and have a brood of kiddies –  visit to the Macy’s Parade balloon blow-up headquarters on the perimeter of the American Museum of Natural History.  What a blow out!  Indebted to a playful Blogher contributor and friend Suzanne Reisman who hosted a party for the event, the hubby and I experienced our first rain-soaked, festive gathering of thankful Manhattanites who, like me, worship Papa Smurf.

Papa Smurf and lots of rain

Big Daddy Smurf

Arriving home late, we shifted into pack-for-the-6am flight-to-the-in-laws-in-Chicago mode.  In an out of character move, I gave no advanced thought about what to wear for Thanksgiving.  Game plan: go with the gut.  After all, that’s what a good part of the holiday centers on.  Amongst an abundance of dresses, tops, shoes, tights and accessories, I stuffed the luggage full of whatever seemed right.  With the last zip of the London Fog travel gear, we were off.

As dawn broke outside the window of seat 24B, it, well, dawned on me that something unusual had happened.  I turned to hubby, poked his shoulder, and shouted with a fusion of awe and glee that I think I had dressed like a turkey.  Huh, he says?!

What-if holidays we dressed the part?

Thankfully it was not a literal interpretation, rather a mere channeling of the Thanksgiving spirit, but it was a significant “coincidence” that warrants an extra forkful of sharing.

* The layered ruffles of the J.Crew dress with iridescent purple and chartreuse hues look a tad like the plumes of feathers on the turkey’s bodice, right?

* The striped turtleneck could be mistaken for the wings or tough dark skin on its legs, no doubt?

* The patent leather brown oxford shoes with the talon heel, could they not be the bird’s feet?

* And, c’mon, the rose scarf hanging loosely around the neck?  Is that not the turkey’s wattle?

When the ensemble that emerged from my suitcase was fully arranged, I and my wattle had a glorious gut-busting laugh.

On this What-if Holiday, I continue to be thankful for the freedom to express and the abundant ways that one can go about it.

My muse

My muse

A turkey impression that I can't believe I am posting

A turkey impression that I can't believe I am posting

Displaying my turkey flair

Displaying my turkey flair

It reminds me of a recent visit with mom to see the exhibit “Rare Bird of Fashion:  The Irreverent Iris Apfel” at the Peabody Essex Museum.  Iris is a rare bird, summoning the spirit of her interior life and making it visible to the world.  Her audacious expressions rejuvenated my spirit, leaving me with that extra boost of chutzpah to go out into the world with all my feathers splayed.

Click on the links above for an amazing application that allows you to curate Ms. Apfel’s wardrobe for yourself! A perfect opportunity to play What-if I . . .?

Crafting Coupledom

View of Manhattan from Brooklyn's Fulton Ferry Park

View of Manhattan from Brooklyn Flea Market

When Friday dawns, we are both so glad to wipe the week’s sweat off our brow and settle into the expanse of the weekend.  It’s a time of endless opportunity.  A time to stroll to our favorite neighborhood brunch spot and refill the larder with Manhattan’s abundant, unique delicacies.  Life seems so rich, unstructured and open for adventure.

It’s also a time to fight.  Oh yeah.

Because, despite it all, we are still individuals who have slightly different concepts of what an ideal Saturday should be.

My Ideal Saturday

Pop up at 7:30am to the magical sound of the sleeping city.  Put on a pot of coffee and venture to the front door to gather the weekend edition of the New York Times.  Hubby wakes up a bit later and meets me in the living room for side-by-side reading and talk of the day ahead.  New York’s news, neighborhood doings (any gossip? Love it!), and deep musing into the future of career, family, and any fantasy punctuate the crisp black and white perfection of my ideal Saturday morning.

His Ideal Saturday

Wake up whenever his body is healed and rejuvenated from the arduous week.  6am or 11am, what does it matter?  Roll around, yawn, lull in and out of sleep, stretch, sigh, move one leg, find glasses, find me.  He’s up and a happy camper! The day ahead?  Whatever we want!

What do we want? Do we want to kick around on our own, thinking and doing things in proximity yet separately?  Or do we want to walk the city in sync, enmeshed within the other? Neither one knows exactly what the other wants or needs at that very moment.

It changes.  We change.

Ah yes, we’ve changed since day one of our marriage, we changed yesterday and we will be changing tomorrow.

I now let him sleep in (sometimes) and, well, he refills my cup of coffee while I read the paper.  I know – he’s a great guy. He also makes the best oatmeal pancakes and that is one thing we both adore!

Some weekend ways we crafted coupledom.

Saturday ~ Ventured to the preview of an auction of works on paper at Swann Galleries.  Together we studied the prints and read the catalogs, trying to listen to and learn what the other finds meaningful and visually pleasing.  If we were to one day start an art collection, what would it look like?  Could we compromise, come to an agreement on aesthetic values?

Sunday ~ Hopped over to DUMBO’s waterfront for the Brooklyn Flea, a small market with an array of vintage clothing, ceramics, furniture, and other delightful odds and ends.  It also boasts the sweetest, melt-in-your-mouth Connecticut Lobster roll (brushed with drawn butter, not mayo) that both of us have ever laid claws on.  And, get a load of those pizza margheritas handcrafted on the spot in that elegant pizza oven!

Moto Pizza's ornate, mobile wood burning oven

Moto Pizza's ornate, mobile wood burning oven

Succulent lobster roll from Red Hook Lobster Pound

Succulent lobster roll from Red Hook Lobster Pound

Sitting next to each other, lobster roll and warm slices in hand, we knew we had come to one understanding of what blissful coupledom could look, smell, and taste like.

What do you do?

The Homemade Halloween High

I’ve got that morning-after glow.

Last night was the stuff of fantasy.  A wild, rollicking evening filled with role play, boundless imagination, secrets, and games galore.  I, no we, have been anticipating this for weeks, each quietly unfurling the salacious details in our heads with mounting excitement!

Beh, mind out of the gutter.  I’m talking about Halloween. Though, this was truly a Halloween of firsts for us both.

  • Our costumes were entirely homemade.  With pleasure we doffed consumerism, and dawned the handcrafted.
  • We collaborated, musing and executing a unified vision. Pure feel-good teamwork.

Seizing the Halloween spirit, the one that demands play, fluid thinking, and infinite dreaming, we unveiled ourselves as …drumroll…

The Costume

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Pilot Dick Sully and World Class Attendant C. Harlotte Hudson.

Yes, we took the pilot of legend and, well, sullied his good name.  C’mon it begged for it!

The Process

The planning took us all over.  Ebay sleuthing turned up a real USAir pin and a bag of plastic wings. Don’t you remember the excitement of getting those as a kiddie?  So sad the airlines in a cost-saving measure gave this up, along with you know water and food.  The hubby found a vintage pilot’s hat, which received a lot of attention at last night’s party.  You could feel how well made it was and what dignity it must have brought to the man wearing it.  What an inadvertent, yet delightful way to channel the spirit of those before.

Round two brought us to the recently opened, first-ever Michael’s craft store in Manhattan. If you didn’t know that crafting has gained popularity, you should have seen the snaking lines and packed aisles when we went!  We collected a few yards of tinsely gold ribbon to embellish the pilot hat and suit cuffs.

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Finally, I hauled my tush to Etsy Labs Open Craft Night (last Monday of every month) in Brooklyn to make medals honoring the sexploits – Mastered the Hudson, Mile High Marshall, Cum Fly the Friendly Skies -  of my highly decorated captain.  I had so much fun playing around with a button making contraption (proper name?) to simulate round medallions.  I also revisited the Janome sewing beast.  This Halloween I tamed it!  Granted, I was only sewing 5 stitches at the bottom of fabric that were ultimately going to be covered by the button medals, but hey I’m going to just pat myself on the back.

The Outcome

The feel-good emotions that well up when you have seen something through from conception to completion is the high we’re riding on this morning.  That and a Snickers-Crunch bar overload.

You got a Halloween High?

A Ritual Exchange in New England

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Mom and I have a ritual. When I cross the bridge into my quaint, insular Cape Ann and round the bend onto Beach Road, the trappings of New York Lydia are promptly stuffed in the washer. In their absence, cozy fabric-softener-fresh Gloucester chic is eagerly pulled from the hot dryer.  Fall days require warm leggings, sueded puma flats, down vests and layers of pashimnas around the neck.  The Atlantic wind is unforgiving!

Our ritual takes place on the floor of The Stock Exchange, a New England consignment shop packed to its gills with artfully displayed antiques, decorative pillows, linens, furniture, sea motif watercolors and women’s second hand designer clothing – to name only a few treasures. Whenever I make a visit home, we invariably find ourselves there.

We coo, critique, oooh and ahhh, imagine, think big, seek small, visualize, look back, dig down, sing praises, share doubts, seize with passion, and quiver with uncertainty, all on the stage of The Stock Exchange.

“Mom, mom!” I hold up my recent “find,” an oversized ceramic bowl, “wouldn’t this be perfect for a winter soup?”.  Without hesitation an effortless smile beams my way, “Yes, and I love that pattern!”. Nothing is more valuable than the approving nod of a mother; nothing more heart wrenching than the furrowed brow of her disapproval. Sometimes she is right. I’ve trotted back to our floor-through apartment with a dreadful vase (or two).

Though our exchanges vary depending on what’s in stock, there is always one thing being traded: a shared love for the spiritual in the everyday.  This is our ritual.

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Yes, we have started the fall 2009 season off with gusto!  With burgeoning confidence, I sleuthed the nooks of The Exchange with a refined aesthetic sensibility, strolling home with a pair of brown buttery leather opera length gloves.  Mom’s prized booty: a dainty plant stand that doubles as a place to rest a steaming mug of coffee in the early dawn hours.

Rituals form bonds.  The Stock Exchange is one bond we are happy to share.

For musing over exquisitely styled display windows and to experience the thrill of walking amongst an endless array of thoughtfully arranged vignettes, visit The Stock Exchange.  They are just that much of a secret that they don’t have a website. However, here are a few mentions around the net.

A similar find in your area?  Share with us!

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HouseCraft: Illuminate Your World from the Inside Out

Monday October 26th, watch Alison Lewis light up the Martha Stewart Show!

Continuing The Clueless Crafter’s Interview Series on inspiring women and men who craft unique, personalized home environments, I am beaming to share Alison Lewis’s bright world with you.  Join us as we discuss her home and craft.  OH, and a big congratulations to her for recently securing a well-deserved spot on the Martha Stewart Show!

Have any creative ways of incorporating light into your home? Tell us!

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If you had a vision of what your ideal home would be prior to your LED days, what would it have looked like and what would have been in it?

It would have large windows and be industrial mixed with eclectic wood, plastic and bamboo walls and floors. I’ve always loved Philipe Starck designs, which are a mix of luxury, and whimsy and I figure that is what I would do as well. Since I was a little kid, I imagined I would see the New York or Paris Skyline in my view and live above a bakery so I could smell the warm bread every morning. My interior would be redesigned every few years, something like what you see in the movie Auntie Mame - who had a great impression on me when I was young.

How has your concept of home changed since you began embedding electronics into household objects?

It hasn’t changed too much at all. I still like the mixture of nature and man made. I also find texture and color extremely important design elements. I feel the only difference is that I’d like to have a main computer hub to house all my music and programs, with a complete back up system so it is easily accessible.  I also have high hopes for a robotic maid someday. “Rosey, make sure the laundry is done by 12.”

When you can’t wait to get home after a long day, what images or cozy thoughts pop into your mind?

Great question. I usually look forward to a walk outside to the nearest dog park or through a grove of trees in the park. I like the sound of dirt under my feet as I run along.

When I think of comfort and home, I like to curl up in my bed and drink some blended hot tea. My sheets are so comfortable and I like to snuggle into them. It’s hard to get up out of bed sometimes and start the day.

NY Times Before Living

In the recent New York Times article Home Crafts Get Wired, you mentioned that your work is geared towards “building tender moments and bringing people together.”  In your home life, how has this taken shape?  Can you describe any moments that underscored the importance of your craft?

Yes, well, my work has always been questioning why technology has to always be this “functional” device. So, after I designed the living room, my friends came over and we sat and looked at the movies that play with the tea set. The topics digressed and we found ourselves in good conversations about travel, friends and such. It was a good moment and we had a great time. You don’t have to have technology to facilitate these types of moments, but I find that video and photos and music really help.

NY Times After Living

You seem very indebted to your late grandmother Alice Merryman, a lifelong crafter and ardent proponent of keeping history and tradition alive in craft.  Do yo infuse your work with the same values? How?

I am very different from my Grandmother, but I think her values of determination, teaching, and craftsmanship has rubbed off on me. She was a bit hard headed at times and I can be too. This determination is what it takes to follow your vision; you have to keep going even when the outside world isn’t supporting you. When I find myself caring too much what others think, I push it out of my head and say — “you know this, have faith in it and move forward.” Grandma taught me this.

This carries over into teaching. Grandmother always shared what she did with us and actually was a teacher in her younger days. It’s something that is just a part of my family – my mother and father both taught at points in their lives and they value helping others and sharing knowledge as well. I’ve taught at Parsons and enjoy sharing my knowledge through my website.

I am always looking for a very clean line and quality construction. It’s not everything, but I have a great appreciation for those who have high quality craftsmanship with modern simplicity. Grandma did too, she would always say her stuff isn’t that great and would point how my cousin’s work was so perfect — but what she didn’t realize is that it was her unique consistent brush stroke or hand stitching that impressed people. Her lack of an ideal perfection is what actually made her craftsmanship so interesting. So when it’s not perfect, I say well, let your style lead the way.

Light Shelves

As a woman who has handcrafted a very unique home, what would you say was the most empowering part of the planning and the process?

I get empowered when I realize I am making something I can share with others. Also, I was really motivated when my mother and my boyfriend’s mother came to help out with the space. I really enjoy having people over and working together towards a common goal; I prefer that to working alone usually.

In regards to the historical public perception of home crafting as a skill belonging to the women’s sphere, how do you think your craft does or does not challenge this view?

For the most part it is still a women’s sphere, though some of the best designers are men. This isn’t an issue with me, really. What bothers me is that home crafting isn’t seen as worthwhile as some other pursuits. Mind you, if you spend all day making doilies, you’ll have to understand that isn’t so exciting to the rest of the world. However, the skills we have are very applicable to a larger industry of textiles and innovation. I think people are catching onto this now and I feel my book and website are a good start at this. But, if people just look at the work as “tinkering” or “crafting” then they’ll not get over the stigma. There is nothing wrong with making for the home, just don’t expect a Nobel Prize for it. Not yet, anyways.

Finally, we all want to know this household rule:  When is it lights out for the evening?

Lights totally go out a little before 12:00 midnight.

People always ask me if I keep all my extra lighted things “on” all the time. The answer is “no.” The painting is usually dimly lit and that is about it. Most of the other pieces, like in the shelves, are only on for a romantic night or movie watching, the rest are on when I have friends over. It’s like having a beautiful grand piano; it’s always there, but you’re not always playing it. The majority of the time I just enjoy being in my living room as it is, with the light cascading through the windows.

Image credits Ryan Collerd and iheartswitch.com

Curate to Differentiate?

curate

Image credit Tim Gough

TheCluelessCrafter.com: Exploring the Craft of becoming self Made.

Huh? Whaaat?  I know. . . . I know.  Such a mouthful! I’m itching to do an overhaul of this cumbersome tagline, to welcome you to a site that sparkles from top to bottom.

Yes, I’ve had trouble branding my blog before.  Back at it again!  This time, despite all the “I, me” talk, I (oh god, I’m saying it again) need your help!

Which brings me to this.  In the Sunday, October 4th Style Section of the New York Times,  Alex Williams’ article “On the Tip of Creative Tongues” got me thinking big. The topic: curate. Once a high-minded word pertaining exclusively to the management and dissemination of museum quality art works, it has been refashioned to meet a new need.  Today, so it seems, many creatives want to be part of the curate continuum.  We all want to feel we can curate a fine-tuned collection of something, right?  Etsy, for example, invites guest curators – a spicey version of guest bloggers – to contribute to its site. Eric Demby, founder of Brooklyn Swap Meet, swears he “personally curates the food stands.”

I believe I curate all aspects of my life, large and small.  I pick and choose meaningful people to fold into my private world as carefully as I select the napkin that will go with the flatware.  I’m trying to curate some dynamic, harmonious whole that represents the essence of me.

I’m editing the world into what I want to see.  This is the world I want to live and die in. So, too, are many artists and crafters.

Voting Time

In your HONEST (preferably, gentlest) opinion, does what I’m saying even make sense? If this is not a baseless argument, please vote on some of the new versions I’ve come up with.

TheCluelessCrafter.com. . .

  1. Exploring the craft of the self curated
  2. Exploring the craft of the curated self
  3. Exploring the craft of the spiritedly curated
  4. Exploring the craft of the passionately curated
  5. Eeek! They’re all no good

What’s Your blog’s tagline and Why?

Love, Loss and What You wore?

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I’ve been meaning to read the book Love, Loss and What I Wore by Ilene Beckerman,  but am happy to know it’s now been made into a Broadway play by Nora and Delia Ephron.

This morning, the Ephrons are visiting the Martha Stewart Show, reminiscing with great nostalgia about what they wore to their first proms and to their brownie meetings.  The domestic doyenne doesn’t hesitate to share a story about how she hid a bra from her mother (who was apparently in denial about Martha’s burgeoning womanhood) in the back of her closet until her displeased mother discovered it.

We all have memories of what we wore when a significant event happened in our lives.  The Aussie actor Simon Baker remembers handmade swim trunks, my mother remembers the-in-her-words jazzy raincoat and hat she made during her college days.  I remember a friend’s black poodle skirt that I’d beg to wear any chance I got.  I felt transported to the 1950s, a period that I had assumed was America’s utopia.

What were you wearing?