july. part 1.

 my apologies for the lengthy absence.

july was packed to the brim

with preparations

for baby evelyn's arrival.

and with plenty of art making

and shipping.

i'll catch you up with two posts

on what i've been up to.

 

first, a walk through

evie's new digs.

turns out the nesting instinct

is no joke.

lamb pelt from tibet code on etsy & refinished vintage dresser

art i created inspired by some wonderful etsy artists

lovely doll hand made by my good friend ramona

babies love contrast!

"born free" - nightlight i made inspired by a gap onesie design

shel silverstein collection + the book that inspired the room's theme

little red mobile i blatantly copied from one found at acorn toy shop

all washed and ready to be taken on great adventures

stay tuned for an update

of what i've been up to

in the studio

in the next post.

autumn wonderings and lingerings

 crisp & mellow days are taking turns.

gray days weeping

with the melancholy of fleeting moments.

golden days dripping

with honey

and the fragrance of dying leaves.

only two ways to respond

to the miracle of these new days:

venture out

through the wonderland of golden arches

set against a silver sky,

the streets gilded under your foot steps,

until your heart explodes

of so much beauty.

or

venture in

through the wonderland of your heart

spilling its treasures 

on the crisp pages of your journal.

listen to what the rain has to say

over a cup of strong black tea.

eat golden foods

dripping with the sweet nectar

of the dying sun.

butter

maple

bourbon

caramel

pears

melting into

chewy oats.

sojourn.

meander.

dillydally.

wrapped in rainbows

 "i have been in sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. 

then i have stood on the peaky mountain 

wrapped in rainbows, 

with a harp and sword in my hands."
- zora neale hurston

 a new girl.

and fragrant late spring as

neighboring linden trees explode

with lime blossoms -

so sweet and green

they make the most soothing

tea liquor.

much needed sips of sanity

in the middle of a delightfully full house.

friends from all over the world

crashing in the spare room

and the couch

and on the studio floor

as we prepare

for our dear friends' wedding feast.

insanity of the most

wonderful kind.

excuse my absence from e-space,

until the joy-filled chaos

subsides.

 lime blossom tea-scented kisses

and a lovely weekend to you,

my friends!

monday mood board. spring rains.

  

 

  

sources: stil inspiration, 101 cookbooks, gifts and stars,  

btw ceramics, gb rosseau photography, the gingham owl,  

ethan ollie, from scandinavia with love

monday morning at play

 

 

breathe.  sip your tea.

notice.

 play

 before work.

keep playing

perhaps

until long after

the work is done. 

spring. space.

'everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.'

- rainer maria rilke

'it's spring fever. that is what the name of it is. and when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you *do* want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!'

- mark twain

 

 grateful.  for oh so many things.

sunshine pouring through wide open windows.

stolen apple blossoms on my table.

new beginnings. 

outpouring of life.

(even the snakes coming out to play)

most of all

this space.

to be

and to create from.

and you,

this crazy beautiful family

to share the journey with.

i propose a toast.

to yes!

 

renovations: inside and out

it will always be a work in progress.

as am i.

so i procrastinate.

i get fired up.

i cry and laugh

perhaps at the same time.

i cry some more.

 

i sand plastered walls

until 3 in the morning

i stare at the canvas

until i forget my name.

i mix up my verbs:

my to dos

my to bes

i ravish time

when it offers himself up to me.

and not in a sexy way.

 i beat against his chest

with bleeding knuckles

dreading his sweet breath

on my bare shoulder

because it reminds me

of his existence.

i forget things.

to be kind.

the keys.

the sound of my own voice.

i remember

to take off my shoes

when i step on holy ground.

to weep with joy

over so reckless an abundance

of grace:

our old doors and beams

finding new life

in a bench for the studio.

whiskey and cigars on our patio.

warm breeze through

the flung open doors.

a favorite professor

as my new neighbor.

friends stopping by 

unannounced.

a lovely housewarming gift

arrived in the mail

from the dearest of souls.

the relentless tenderness

of time,

who keeps on loving me,

bloody knuckles

and all.

 

 

home, at last

a gray morning

drenched

with the joy

of waking up

to a new day

at home.

the smell of fresh paint

says hello

and good morning!

bare feet

waking up

to cold floors

guide me

towards the kettle

(always on,

we're home, you see)

eyes not yet ready

to take in

the light.

wood. stone. leather. wool.

the elements breathe in

the calm.

i offer my self space.

a slow morning.

later,

i will slurp miso soup

from a clay bowl

and tackle the last

of the boxes:

my studio.

(i always save the best

for last)

tell me,

dear soul,

what is home

to you?

finding poetry in demolition

'simplicity is about subtracting the obvious, and adding the meaningful.'

john maeda

'and above all watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.'

roald dahl

bits of visual poetry

found 

amongst the debris.

rich layers

of history

revealed

by scraping through

the dust

and the paint.

may your eyes
uncover

the magic

in humble places

today.

deconstruction. construction.

work in progress. home in progress.

deconstruction. construction. painting. broken pipes. debris everywhere. packing paintings. designing promotional cards. sore muscles. taxes. chinese take-out. dust everywhere. planning weekend trip. loads of laundry. date nights at home depot. passing out on the couch. 

getting dirty.  always tea.  finding poetry in the little moments. finding the little moments. 

breathing.  

virtual tea tuesday: always poetry

pear caramel black tea.

fresh citrus aroma opens up my morning. 

sunshine.

comfort in a heavy mug.  present from a dear friend who is far away. 

ancient + modern home inspiration.

home!

we are so close!  only a month away.

a month of hearty hands on work. 

we get to make this boarded up foreclosed property into

our home.

our sanctuary.

a space for art and music and laughter.

a space for quiet contemplation.

for basking in the morning light and listening to the afternoon rain.

for being.

a space for good food.

a space where the tea kettle is always on.

and the door always open.

ever open to friends old and new.

our home.

and there will always be

poetry.

'for as long as i can remember.'