Bird On A Wire

Ever since I visited the Warner House in Portsmouth, New Hampshire a few years back and saw the evocative portrait of Polly Warner, I've been intrigued with 18th and 19th century paintings of women with birds.  And there are plenty of them.

In art, women are popular subjects especially attractive women in elaborate dress.  But I was unprepared for the number of paintings of women holding birds - even exotic and dangerous birds.  I wish I could say I discovered a reason for this but there seems to be very little said about the phenomena except to mention the deep connection between women and nature.  I never pretend to be an art expert but I believe I could imagine a few reasons why - one being that birds represent the freedom that often eludes women in life.  I would also say that it is in women's nature to protect small things, especially things that are vulnerable and frail.

The portrait of Polly directly below, appears both wistful and melancholy to me.  There is but a half-smile on her lips and the landscape behind her seems changeable and moody.  Yet a delicate thing rests upon her graceful upraised hand - unencumbered except for a long loose thread - where it seems quite content to be in her presence.

Bright April (or Fringed Placemats)

"It's a book about Girl Scouts", said the book dealer as I lightly turned the pages of Bright April, a children's book by Marguerite de Angeli.  "Actually, it's a book about diversity", I quietly responded.

I am well-acquainted with Bright April as it is a story I read often to my daughter when she was small.  I spent a lot of time selecting books for my child's personal library.  If even one illustration seemed "off" to me, the book went back on the bookseller's shelf.  But Marguerite de Angeli's books filled up prime bookshelf real estate in my daughter's bedroom and she left them here for me.  For the time being.

Bright April had me at the fringed placemats in the illustration above, so enchanted was I with the details of the picture.  De Angeli's work is so vivid and cheerful and her stories are often about things dear to my heart - like home.  But in Bright April, she tackles a serious issue and she does it gently and with honesty.  Admittedly, the book is just a bit politically incorrect -  but there is only one line I would alter for today's audience.

I did purchase the bookdealer's edition - it is in much better shape than the one I have at home.  The spine and the boards of my copy have frayed and broken apart and are only held together now by strings.  But when I brought the new book home I found not one but two copies of Bright April on my shelves.  One was the 1945 edition that was falling apart and the other one, had a stamp on the inside cover from a church I regularly attended when my daughter was still a pre-schooler.  Suddenly,  I remembered I borrowed the book from the church's library and did not return it in the flurry of moving to a new state.

Right now, my old copy is at the bookbinder's being repaired - I discovered from the bookseller that it's a first edition and therefore, should be preserved.  When I collect it, I plan on sending it to the church as a gift along with their missing copy.  It will be dispatched with a note of apology.  Mine, I will keep on my nightstand to dip into for pure beauty and for the comfort of a bedtime story.

It will also remind me to resume my lifelong search for fringed placemats.

~

More beauty from Marguerite de Angeli:

Summer Serendipity

After Sunday School many years ago, my daughter excitedly ran towards me clutching a bouquet of paper roses she made.  They were simple beauties created from colorful tissues folded in accordion pleats, rimmed with pink lipstick and attached to green pipe cleaners.  I made some with my grandmother once too and had long-forgotten about them.  But my daughter was spellbound for days and even took her roses to bed with her at night, so charmed was she (and so tender her attachment to them seemed to her mother).

I love discovering sweet things that wind up capturing my imagination if only for a few weeks. And it was thus, when I happened across the image above in a cookbook I found at my favorite rare book shop on a Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago.  I bought the $3 book which isn't really that old or rare and then discovered to my delight that it is actually quite marvelous and inspiring.  But I initially bought it for the image which I later thought would be perfect for this end-of-summer post.

I didn't net much information about the portrait online - only that it was painted by Armenian artist Charles Atamian who is also responsible for some of my favorite seaside art.  I believe this picture is just an unframed canvas that was probably owned by the author of the cookbook and may have been gifted to him (a picture of the book is below).  It perfectly captures a beautiful moment by the sea just before summer slips away.  I love the colorful summery dress on the model and the bright turquoise ring on her left hand.  And I can almost smell the ocean tide and feel the sand under those waves stinging at my legs.

As for the book, I only ask myself, "Where has Roger Verge been all my life?"  Apparently in France, where he operated a few beloved restaurants which serve to this day, lovely Provencal cuisine.  There is much for me to learn about Verge, although I was sad to read that he died last year at age 85.  Still, he left behind heirs to manage his restaurants with the same passion he had and he left behind some terrific French cookbooks I have yet to explore at my library.  I have been cooking from the book all week and the menus are full of farm-fresh foods - perfect for end-of-summer.

For now, I'm content with my book which has gorgeous photographs, easy recipes, and a charming text which I am finding enormously engrossing as I laze about on the patio with the last batch of frozen lemonade.  I may not be taking my new cookbook to sleep with me like my little girl and her paper roses, but when not in my lap, it sits opened on the cookbook stand in the kitchen.  There, the beautiful image reminds me that some of the best simple pleasures are found when one is not looking.  And it reminds me to enjoy the warm but quickly waning days of summer.

Summer Skies and Lullabies

As we await the delivery of wedding photographs, we are reminiscing about our happy day. Sunday morning dawned with smokey fog but by noon, the skies peeled back to reveal a lovely Wedgewood blue -  the color that transforms objects into something heavenly, as if one has put on rose-colored glasses.  More than once, I felt a catch in my throat - and a longing for something ...more time...more lullabies...a little girl and her dolly...and for other lives no longer overlap ours.  I also had the sensation of being carried around on a cushioned bed of serenity and happiness.  It was my daughter's wedding day!

I remember the rows of white chairs as we strolled down the aisle of our cloistered grotto. The hydrangeas bowed their heavy heads and the hibiscus danced a shimmy at the whispering sea breezes. My daughter's ivory dress suddenly seemed so bright and fresh in the sunlight, the meaning of it so clear...her perfection, her youth, her joy...and all her hopes for the future represented in the chiffon flower, the encrusted pearls, the simple net veil.  Her golden locks were smoothed out and shiny, skin perfect.  At the simple altar, rosebud lips - the same ones I fretted over so worriedly in a hospital isolate so many years ago - whispered "I love you forever, Mom".  She released my arm with a squeeze and I took my place.

The ceremony was simple and hushed and over way too fast - a promise, a ring, a kiss...no drama or hype - no fuss -  so very like her.  I watched them pass by to "Here Comes the Sun" but at the end of the aisle, they stopped and waited for me.  Together we three wrapped our arms about each other and smiled into sets of brimming eyes.  And then, my new son murmured something only I heard:  "She's safe... you don't have to worry anymore".  Oh young man, if you but only knew...

The flashbacks have stopped at last.  I am clearing out her room and spreading out my life. When I went to bed that first night there was a card nestled beside my pillow.  On one side was her love letter and on the other, the instructions for changing the time on my clock radio - something I never got the hang of.

More beauty, fashion, books, art, and life posts coming up...back to my usual musings soon!

Spring Miscellany

 

Last month I saw the film The Woman in Gold with my daughter.  I was not expecting to be so swept away by the plight of Maria Altmann as she attempts to recover a Gustav Klimt painting of her aunt, Adele Bloch-Bauer.  The beautiful portrait was stolen from Altmann's family by the Nazi's just prior to WWII in Austria and never returned.  A small piece of written legalese kept the portrait in Vienna after the war.

The movie is really about love of family and what it means to belong and the talismans that tie us to those we've lost, (although having a famous painting is quite a special talisman).  Soon after I saw the film, I read the book, The Lady in Gold: The Extraordinary Tale of Gustav Klimt's Masterpiece, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, and became even more immersed in Altmann's story.  I decided that I wanted to travel to the Neue Gallery in New York City to see the Klimt myself.

The Neue Gallery is a hushed and intimate museum and while Adele Bloch-Bauer's portrait commanded the room it hung in, the collections are small and personal.  In the museum shop, I purchased a keepsake box of the portrait which contained two beautiful lipsticks reminiscent of Bloch-Bauer's gold dress and the fairy rose tint of her lips.  I thought it was a fitting souvenir for a style writer but I also wanted something to remind me of the beautiful story of triumph and the long-reaching ties of familial bonds.  I highly recommend the film.

Right now, any spare time I have is spent voraciously reading about Edwardian British socialite Heather Firbank.  The new book about her lovely wardrobe, London Society Fashion...The Wardrobe of Heather Firbank, is a gorgeous tome of all the Downton-esque clothes your heart can stand.  Firbank stayed ahead of each trend and bought clothes lavishly from the best couturiers of her time.  Every item in the book represents a happy memory of her life - from flirtatious dances to the thrilling weddings of all her friends.  She lovingly saved every opulent dress and accessory by tucking them away in trunks.  Until her death, the wardrobe stood for all her dreams, most of which were tragically unrealized.  But fortunately for us, she could not relinquish her things and they were eventually donated to the Victoria and Albert Museum.  The book catalogues them in all their glory.

Recently, I read an article about aging written by Dominicque Browning.  Browning was the long-time editor in chief of House and Garden who was fired suddenly a few years ago.  In the article she talks about the difficulty of finding a job after being terminated and all the attending insecurities that one would naturally feel.  An older and wiser editor advised Browning to "Go where the love is", after she suffered further rejections in her employment search.  The phrase reminded me that sometimes we have to step back and really think about the places we spend our time and effort.  Do we feel welcomed in those places?  Are they places that appreciate our passions?  Sometimes we are lucky enough to work somewhere like that or perhaps we attend an exercise class that always makes us feel more of who we are, or we attend churches where we are accepted and wanted.  "Go where the love is" really came home for me after I read the Browning piece.  I suddenly decided I will no longer frequent our local library no matter how many fine books are there.  Over the years, I have found the staff to be cold and impersonal - they look right through me.  The special events I have attended often make me feel less than.  There are people who have entrenched relationships with the library and don't seem to want to make room for others. 

As well, I was asked to attend a PR event for a business I occasionally highlight in my columns.  I brought along a pal for fun but soon discovered I had only been invited to help see that the room was filled to impress other media.  The PR director, who often emails me to ask if I will include one of her clients in my work, was dismissive and snobby and after a few minutes, I felt painfully awkward.  My friend, an accomplished teacher, said she was uncomfortable too, because the other women wouldn't make eye contact or greet her.  It wasn't where the love is and I will carefully choose where I show up and spend my precious time in the future. These days I am finding love at a friendly yoga class on Saturday mornings.  I even found it in my gynecologists' office by the always-happy-to-see-me staff.  Ditto new work events I've been attending.  Go where the love is...

And finally, I am having a renewed affair with the lowly bar of soap.  There is something so soothing about slipping into a tepid bath after a hot day with a fragrant fresh bar of soap.  My favorites are made in Italy but I recently found a perfect French apricot bar at TJ Maxx - it will be lovely for cooling soaks on summer's most sultry nights.  Many soaps claim to be "triple-milled", which research tells me simply means they rinse off easily.  Still, I'm amazed at how the delicate scent of soap lingers on the skin.  There is also something really nice about taking baths in clear unadulterated water again...for now, I'm eschewing filmy body washes and overly-fruity bubble baths for a delicious change of pace.  Amazon sells lots of Italian soaps in the prettiest floral boxes.  Soap is truly an unexpected as well as inexpensive simple pleasure.

On the Third Day of a Feminine Christmas

This is a print that appeared in a short-lived French fashion magazine called La Gazette du Bon Ton (translated, The Journal of Good Style).  The periodical covered the latest developments in beauty and style for chic Parisian women.  During its publication time (1912-1925), fashion magazines highlighted fashion with lovely prints and illustrations, and not photography.

I first became captivated with this image when I discovered it on a collection of Christmas cards at the Metropolitan Art Museum, and as I often do, I saved one last card for myself.  Fortunately, I recently found the image on eBay for just a dollar as it had been ripped from a copy of La Gazette du Bon Ton.

The illustration is called La Biche Apprivois�e, which means The Tame Doe.  I love the sense of movement which shows an elegant women in fashionable heels trotting naturally beside a small deer.  To me, there is clearly a Christmas theme in her exquisite black, white, and red frock and the deer, although not a reindeer.  The dress in La Gazette du Bon Ton was described as a "scarf print dress by Paul Poiret...of georgette sleeves and a collar and cuffs of organdy, fluted".  Poiret's legacy as a fashion designer is that he freed women from restrictive corsets, although ironically, he was later known for the hobble skirt!

What I take away from images like La Biche Apprivois�e, is a sense of refined yet subdued Christmas style - a far cry from Christmas themed sweaters or tree ornament earrings.  Although I do think that type of fashion has a place today, I prefer my Christmas finery straight up - pretty skirts with simple luxurious sweaters, silk blouses, a touch of tartan.  Polished, quiet, graceful...reflective of the woman I want to be and considerate of the true Christmas message of faith, hope, charity, and love.

The Warner House

I dragged three unwitting participants with me to the Warner House in Portsmouth, New Hampshire yesterday.  My goal was to see a bedspread.  Long on my unofficial bucket list was to view the Betsy Panhallow bedspread reproduced for this historic sea-faring house.  The beautiful coverlet first came to my attention via Piecework magazine in 1997.  It was recreated by a group of Portsmouth women based on Warner House letters and diaries written by some of the women that once lived there.  I had read that the Warner House had closed for the season a week or so ago but I called and asked if someone would give an afternoon tour to my companions and I and an enthusiastic and knowledgeable docent was dispatched to greet us and show off the house.

I was also particularly interested in the ethereal portrait of Polly Warner, above, age 11.  Many family members have occupied the Warner House from the 1700's to the 1930's, and it was difficult to keep track of the many ladies of the house so I am not quite sure who Polly was in the Warner lineage.  But she certainly captured my heart with her pet bird on a ribbon and her serene face. The painting was wall-sized and Polly peered deeply into my eyes as I stared back into hers.  She was painted by Joseph Blackburn, a famous English portraitist who excelled in painting women's lace sleeves and elaborate dress textiles.  He is especially well-known for capturing the beauty of shimmering silks, and was therefore, a favorite artist of fashionable women everywhere.  I was quite dismayed to learn that sweet Polly died at age 20 in childbirth.

The house is extremely livable in that it doesn't have the small low ceilings and narrow hallways one sees in early 18th century homes.  There was an airiness and expanse to the rooms and foyers and often I would glance down at the wooden floor boards and imagine the long sweep of a woman's skirt hem in flickering candlelight as she turned a corner from one of the many bedroom doorways that emptied into the large upstairs hall. 

Eventually I spotted the lovely cream bedspread and viewed up close and personal the level of craftsmanship that goes into making such a beautiful thing.  The knitting needles used must have been the very tiniest, the stitches so intricate and so abrupt in the turning and twisting pattern.  As a knitter, I cannot imagine the time it must have taken to create such perfection and loveliness. 

We moved onto the third floor where suddenly, my thoughts turned to Sara Crewe from The Little Princess and the cold attic existence she had to live when Miss Minchin banished her after Mr. Crewe was lost in the war.  The only interest in the blunt rooms were the string of brass and iron bells flanking the top of one wall, very much like the ones in Downton Abbey's opening credits.  It was clear, these frigid echoing rooms belonged to the servants.

I passed on climbing the curved and narrow stairs to the cupola, especially when I spied a bat's trap on the third step.  Two of our party climbed the claustrophobic passage and were rewarded with a stunning view of Portsmouth Harbor and environs.

Pursuits

I've simplified my home filing system at last.  The floral letter basket on my desk only holds a few folders now:  Ideas for Blogging, Ideas for Content Writing, Money Articles, Spirituality, Literary Notes, and my favorite, Pursuits.  In here, I've collected quite a lot of paper, just as it should be.  Sifting through it I discovered there was not one item I could toss - each is the stuff of daydreams. 

It all began several years ago with a piece from Selvedge Magazine about the sewing life of Fanny Brawne as depicted in Jane Campion's "Bright Star", a haunting film about Fanny and the poet John Keats' doomed love affair.  I was delighted to find this article highlighting the remarkable ingenuity of an early 19th century home-grown seamstress and fashionista.  I knew that I would want to revisit Fanny over and over when searching for creative inspiration in the 21st century.

Later I attended a dear exhibit of little girls' samplers from 1728 to 1835.  These small works of art with distinct regional styles cast a spell on me - more so upon learning that the young creators often led arduous lives.  But some of the needlework motifs depict true joyfulness through Biblical verses and poetry.  The small keepsake pamphlet reminds me how much I want to learn more about this touching art form.

Also included in Pursuits is an article about the beautiful and tragic Empress Sisi who lived a monarch's life filled with transcendent fashion.  Although her ending was never going to be ordinary, I find her sadly compelling like a dazzling butterfly destined to die too soon.  I'm certain there are lessons from her life and one day I hope to pursue her further to see if she earned her prominent spot in my file afterall.

Two articles came to me synchronistically in a rare book dealer's catalog.  One, on collecting vintage fashion plates for the very latest in haute home d�cor and then two, on the delicate art of fashion illustration.  Since I dream of owning a lovely piece of feminine art for above my bed and knowing I could never afford the real deal, the articles have spawned a quest to find a pretty but affordable fashion sketch in just the right colors.  According to the authors however, I'd better hurry - both genres are fast becoming the collectibles-du-jour.  No matter, the articles have captured my imagination for color and style and have found me spending many happy hours at the local junk shops.

I sure wish I was able to visit Winterthur, Henry Francis du Pont's estate in Delaware for "Uncommon Threads" the travelling costume exhibit of Downton Abbey's most beautiful dresses.  I see it also included other noteworthy garments such as Carson's tailcoat. But for my money, the focus would have been on Lady Mary's tiered garnet gown which she wore on the winter evening Matthew proposed on bended knee outdoors in the snow.  I will smile wistfully whenever my hand lights upon this enchanting flyer.

Pursuits are vital because they give us something to think about beyond ourselves.  They keep us engaged in the world and give us hope.  They teach us there are other ways to live...they inspire us.  Pursuits are our future.

***
 

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives. ~ Albert Einstein