W Magazine, Part Four

I've long dreamt of owning a bag that evokes animals in Old Master paintings and lately it's been haunting my waking thoughts too.

(Follower of Marmaduke Craddock, c.1660-1717)

I don't know why this is. Maybe because in these uncertain times, the idea of walking around with a bit of art history slung across my body seems strangely grounding. Or maybe because anything old and curious feels very modern right now. (That whole quasi-Edwardian, New Antiquarian thing.) Or maybe it's just because pets have been proven to keep your stress level down.

(W.E. Turner, c. 1870)

Whatever the reasons, I've recently discovered some bags that afflict me with a glassy gaze and labored breathing...in a good way.

They're hand-stitched, made from distressed, overdyed leather and recycled materials and somehow manage to be rough and delicate at the same time, which is an instant sell to me as I devoutly believe that great style is all about oxymorons. (Terrible beauty, ornate monasticism, rough-hewn lushness and all that.)

To discover the designer, click HERE and scroll down.

A Marriage of Art and Nature

This past weekend, I flew to Michigan for my brother's wedding. The ceremony took place at Cranbrook House and Gardens, part of a 319-acre National Historic Landmark campus which includes three schools, two museums, a church and an academy of art. It's one of my favorite places on earth.

(Courtyard of Cranbrook House.

The Little Prince and I are next to the car.)

Designed for George Booth and Ellen Scripps Booth in 1908 by architect Albert Kahn, the house is a glorious example of English Arts and Crafts style.

(The house in 1925)

But even more than the house, it is the gardens which absolutely transport me. Everywhere you turn, there is a hidden corner aching to be photographed...

...a lush fountain nestled in a copse of forest...

...or a crumbling urn marking the way to a secret lawn.

And everywhere, everywhere, art sheathed in the unruliness of nature.

We still have a few minutes before we have to take our seats. Let's pass through this archway at the side of the house. See that black railing on the right? We're going down there.

That path is so calling out to us.

Look, a sunken garden. Despite being in the throes of decay and dormancy, it's still captivating. I'd like to get a closer look at that crest, though.

From this angle, it's getting harder and harder to believe I'm not in England.

And look over to the right: a little gardener's cottage straight from the novels of (take your pick) Thomas Hardy, Elizabeth Gaskell or Anthony Trollope.

I think I need to sit down for a moment.

Would you look at those stunning casement windows? Why, oh why, do so many people in period houses replace them with the vacuous deadpan stares of plate glass? To me, gazing out through a framed vista is so much more pleasing.

(Lest you assume -- as I did -- that they don't make flat iron casement windows anymore, I found this one after an exhaustive ten second search.)

(via here)

Come on, one last adventure. Let's walk up the steps and take a look at that stone fountain in the distance.

Am I alone or does anyone else think that the discoloration on it adds to its charm? It gives it a well-earned patina that heralds the years of service those two muscular gentleman have provided. And do you see that bust of Zeus in the background?

Here's a little secret: Stand on a certain brick at its base and you trigger a secret mechanism that makes it "cry."

(Thanks to Amy B. for this photo)

How do I know this? Because I spent many preteen summers attending theater school at Cranbrook and am well-acquainted with this fellow. On performance nights, my friends and I would lead unsuspecting guests along a dark trail to Weeping Zeus. After uttering an incantation, we would surreptitiously press the lever and completely unnerve them. Oh, the glorious gullibility of young minds.

According to the Cranbrook website, no less than The New York Times Magazine called it "the most enchanted and enchanting setting in America."

I can't disagree.

W Magazine, Part Three

Find out why I'm betting that two Welsh words with hardly any vowels will soon be a fixture in your design vocabulary.

(from George Smith's new line)

Hint: It's all about that chair fabric. Click HERE.

Fiercenesse

I was brought up by my parents to smile for the camera. There was no conceivable alternative. Despite what you might feel on the inside, a composed grin was the face you presented to the lens and, by proxy, to the world. As a result, I have developed an undue fascination with portraits of women who refuse to kowtow to convention.

("The Yellow Glove" by James Cowie, 1928)

No bonus points for guessing that Alice Cowie, pictured here, wore the trousers in the family. Fiercely intelligent and socially ambitious, she practically dares the viewer to meet her gaze, her nose tilted ever so slightly in the air. Husband James was by all accounts shy and retiring and was happy to melt into the background while Alice sizzled. And can we just talk about those gloves for a moment? Yellow was the color adopted by bohemian society back then, code for "artistic", "outré" and all-around fabulous.

Feel the need for your own pair? (I do.) Click here.

This next work is the one that ignited my preoccupation with unsmiling visages.

("Sonja" by Christian Schad, 1928)

I first saw this painting about fifteen years ago when I was living in Manhattan and deep in the throes of an all-black phase. I remember being completely struck by her androgynous sexuality and decadent cool. I was burrowing through the works of Christopher Isherwood at the time, and this lovely creature of the night typified the moral degeneracy of post-WWI Berlin that I had been so avidly reading about.

I think this dress aptly channels the slight sinfulness of the one in the painting.

Photography used to be a much more laborious process, and I'm sure that goes a long way toward explaining the impassive countenances of these next two women. One sat and sat waiting for that infernal "click." It must have been mind-numbing. But the eyes don't hide. Vita Sackville-West may have been bored, but she lost none of her fervent intensity in posing for this photo.

(Vita Sackville-West, c. 1920's, photographer unknown)

I think this jacket from Anthropologie is very Vita. Wear it with a wide-brimmed hat and everywhere you traipse will feel like Sissinghurst.

For some reason, I have waited until now to read Katherine Mansfield, and I'm so glad I did because I have been longing to lose my heart to a new author. She writes with luminous intensity about passionate, often beleagered women who struggle to love and love to struggle, and her stories never fail to deliver an emotional punch-in-the-gut that leave me stunned and wanting more.

(Katherine Mansfield, 1904, photographer unknown)

Here's Katherine in her early twenties -- before the illnesses, before the infidelities, before the loneliness and alienation -- still fiery, still indefatiguable, with so much yet inside her waiting to erupt.

This high-necked blouse would contain your physicality without suppressing your emotional ardor.

So tell me. When it comes to smiling in photos, do you always?

W Magazine, Part Two

Oh, and don't forget to pop over to W today and read my second installment of fall picks. The one pictured below has me praying for rain.

Curious? Click HERE.

Do You Believe In Reincarnation?

The spirit of Domino magazine lives again. This time it's free, it's online and its name is Lonny.

Hallelujah.

First of all, thank you to everyone who replied to my last post. Piero's family is beyond touched at all your heartfelt words of condolence. They keep logging online to read all the wonderful comments and it has made a difference to them at this difficult time. I always tell my husband that I have the kindest, most interesting and considerate readers in the world, and you've proved me right yet again.

As I will be away for the next few days, I wanted to let you know that W Magazine contacted me recently to do a little guest blogging for them over the next few weeks, and of course I said yes (and then promptly dropped my iPhone). The first post is up today (click HERE to read it) and subsequent ones will appear on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Thank you to senior editor Jenny Comita who is the most delightful point person ever.

I'll be back in full force on Monday.