Inspire
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Me, myself and I.
I am an architect. We all are. I create the life I lead, sketching a layout with detailed precision. I was only recently given this wisdom, by my mother. There we sat, one afternoon going over the jibber jabber that is my life and I mentioned that if nothing else, I would welcome and embrace some ease in my life. I just feel sometimes that my destiny and the life I have lead is an overgrown field. Yes, the colors are rich and boisterous and filled with cartwheels, but none the less, incredibly overgrown. Although I am responsible and grounded, I am not a grass is mowed kind of individual. And because of this, the weeds grow high and can be extremely overwhelming and difficult to cut through. As I explained my "need for a lawnmower" theory, my mother sat, patiently, listening. And then, the words spilled out onto the table and splish splashed their way into my waiting ear. "Laura, you chose this path. It is you. If your path were a straight line you would be bored to tears. Whether you realize it or not, you wouldn't have your life any other way." Hmmmm. Is it possible that my mother is right? Is it possible that she might know me better than I know myself? And as quickly as these questions popped in to my mind, they were answered. Yes. And mom, here it comes.....you are so right. It's amazing what helpful insight from people can do for you. An overwhelming sense of relief comes over you, well it did for me anyway. In that brief moment of introspection I finally finally finally...... forgave myself. I have been in "Laura get your life together" purgatory for years. Why is my path so jagged? Why do I desire change so frequently? Why am I never settled? Why do my ideas race through my head like a fleet of wild horses? Answer: Because it's just who you are. I am who I am, and although I feel that self improvement is key and will never stop trying to better myself, I deserve to give my soul a break. So, with that being said, it is with a full heart, that I now give myself a great big bear hug every morning, put my safari pants on and go explore through the weeds......smiling, thankful, and completely entertained. Never a dull moment in my overgrown garden. Thanks mom.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Cow Hyde
I was inspired on Sunday. Who was responsible for this enlightenment? My grandmother......momo. She is fabulous by the way. Absolutely fabulous. A design guru. Ahead of her time. A collector of art. The epitome of style. And a friend. A good friend. Her wing has always been strong, colorful and bold. And in the midst of her leopard prints, red lipstick, and crystal glasses of chardonnay, she taught me, at a young age, about the necessity that are black spiked stilettos and the nirvana of cashmere. Who could ask for anything more?
I have always looked to her for inspiration and found it on so many occasions. Her eye and passion for art illuminates the walls she creates within her home. Each oil, water color, sketch, sculpture are delicately picked from her detailed eye. Her gift is unique. The capacity to peel back the layers, see the artist at work, feel, in her own soul, their lust to create. I have always been fascinated by her ability to take in the entire piece of art, then break it down to it's decomposed beauty. Her aesthetic is worth a mention as well, hell, it's worth an engraving. All of her homes, created and brought to life, welcoming them in as part of her family. Each room filled and mismatched in a beautifully cohesive way, all executed in a fierce expression.
Among this colorful chaos is where I sat on Sunday, comfortable in a cow Hyde chair, sipping coffee and chatting with my grandmother. As we flipped through design magazines and gossiped about the latest and greatest, I inquired about her antiquing quests and how she became so knowledgeable in her aesthetic. Her response? "I just started selling out of my garage. I had no money, but I had a need to express myself through buying and selling art, antiques or things that interested me. I started small and then grew. I eventually realized that this is what I'm good at, people respect my eye and from there I rode full speed ahead and never looked back." I admire this so much. It made me realize that every one's passion is so individual. It's a relationship we build with ourselves. Our ways of expressing can not be taught, told or assigned, it comes strictly from within. We find ways to do what we love, no matter what the circumstance.
And through her story, I started thinking about myself, my family, my friends, the people who create in their own way. Whether it's my boyfriend, the foodie, the business owner, the activist who's skillet is a blank canvas, cooks for the love of food and wants so much for those around him to live healthier lives, or my sister, the painter, who's prints and paintings have become annual Christmas cards that I look forward too each year. My mother, the advocate for the arts, who's poise, style and love of old buildings has grown into a career and a respected place in the community, or miss Rigel, the fashionista, who's wardrobe never sees a dull moment. Or Angie, the creative eye, who finds a broken mirror and see's it's potential for a work of art. Carrie, the jewelry designer, the lover of stones and metal or my dear Stacey, the craft aficianado who's love of markers, paints, construction paper and glitter guns never ceases to amaze me. Each one of these magnificent people and so many others who have touched my life, have found their inner spark, their creative juice, their "this is me and only me" freak flag. They, like my grandmother, have embraced what they love and while moving fast and forward, choose not to look back with regret but grow and continue to inspire.
I have always looked to her for inspiration and found it on so many occasions. Her eye and passion for art illuminates the walls she creates within her home. Each oil, water color, sketch, sculpture are delicately picked from her detailed eye. Her gift is unique. The capacity to peel back the layers, see the artist at work, feel, in her own soul, their lust to create. I have always been fascinated by her ability to take in the entire piece of art, then break it down to it's decomposed beauty. Her aesthetic is worth a mention as well, hell, it's worth an engraving. All of her homes, created and brought to life, welcoming them in as part of her family. Each room filled and mismatched in a beautifully cohesive way, all executed in a fierce expression.
Among this colorful chaos is where I sat on Sunday, comfortable in a cow Hyde chair, sipping coffee and chatting with my grandmother. As we flipped through design magazines and gossiped about the latest and greatest, I inquired about her antiquing quests and how she became so knowledgeable in her aesthetic. Her response? "I just started selling out of my garage. I had no money, but I had a need to express myself through buying and selling art, antiques or things that interested me. I started small and then grew. I eventually realized that this is what I'm good at, people respect my eye and from there I rode full speed ahead and never looked back." I admire this so much. It made me realize that every one's passion is so individual. It's a relationship we build with ourselves. Our ways of expressing can not be taught, told or assigned, it comes strictly from within. We find ways to do what we love, no matter what the circumstance.
And through her story, I started thinking about myself, my family, my friends, the people who create in their own way. Whether it's my boyfriend, the foodie, the business owner, the activist who's skillet is a blank canvas, cooks for the love of food and wants so much for those around him to live healthier lives, or my sister, the painter, who's prints and paintings have become annual Christmas cards that I look forward too each year. My mother, the advocate for the arts, who's poise, style and love of old buildings has grown into a career and a respected place in the community, or miss Rigel, the fashionista, who's wardrobe never sees a dull moment. Or Angie, the creative eye, who finds a broken mirror and see's it's potential for a work of art. Carrie, the jewelry designer, the lover of stones and metal or my dear Stacey, the craft aficianado who's love of markers, paints, construction paper and glitter guns never ceases to amaze me. Each one of these magnificent people and so many others who have touched my life, have found their inner spark, their creative juice, their "this is me and only me" freak flag. They, like my grandmother, have embraced what they love and while moving fast and forward, choose not to look back with regret but grow and continue to inspire.
http://www.mohawkgeneralstore.net/ - Amazing.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
White. Blanco. Weiss. Blanche. Bianco.
I've been taken into custody. I was handcuffed and interrogated for my undying loyalty to the "it's actually not a color" color. I'm in a dark dingy room smelling of color confessions and debilitated individualism. But not to worry, I'm as calm as can be. I will not be bullied for my love of the vacant, vast empty beauty that is WHITE. Instead I embrace it, wrap my arms around it and boldly stand against those who believe that white is.....dare I say it....... boring. Boring.....I have tried to rid this word from my vocabulary for years. How could white be boring? How could any color be boring for that matter? I even stand behind Maroon. I have too. I will not discriminate against any color, even if it does in fact remind me of silk pajama pants....and not in a good way. Of course this is strictly a matter of opinion and to those who are Maroon groupies I do thoroughly apologize. And since we are on the subject of apologies and color I would like to take a moment and also apologize to all the poor souls who were subjected to my chestnut brown hair color choice circa 2007. I realize now, my pale skin is NOT a canvas for experimental dark hair dye. Now back to the subject at hand......WHITE. I was inspired to write this post based on my impatience for spring and of course all the things that make living worth while such as..... warmth, margaritas, sundresses, fresh tomatoes, happiness, sun and swimming pools.....not the indoor kind.....they just aren't the same so to my peanut gallery, stop telling me that I can enjoy swimming in the winter time please, I can't, it's impossible. White is such a a representation of the seasons that I look forward to. It is a fabulous way to bring life to a room that has been hibernating all winter. The coffee stains and thick blankets somehow find their way into hiding, windows are opened and out comes that brilliant crisp and clean color. So put your dark room away, hide the key and bring out the BLANCO! Enjoy.
http://www.findingshibusa.com/ - FABULOUS
http://decorno.blogspot.com/2007/09/more-white-hot-rooms.html - this is a fantastic blog
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