* SNOW *

My Minnesotan heart is rejoicing, for there is snow in Tunbridge Wells!  And not just flurries, but real, honest to God, stick-to-the-ground snow.  As I walked through town, giant snowflakes blew into my face, settled on my hair, melted in the bottom of my shopping bag.  It was glorious.  It is glorious!

On the White Cliffs of Dover

You'd think these Minnesotan bones would be comfortable in the cold, would welcome it, even.  You'd think I'd know to always carry a pair of warm gloves and remember to regularly waterproof my leather boots.  You may assume that a functional coat with roomy pockets would be a go-to in my closet and I'd have a pair of earmuffs somewhere in my house, but no.  No, no, no.  I'm afraid I'm terribly unprepared for this wet and rainy winter.  Luckily, I'm still enough of a Midwesterner to be tough and though the wind blew mightily and the rain came down cold and fast, I still made the trek along the White Cliffs in Dover. 

Call me insane, but prior to our arrival, I assumed the walk along the cliffs would be leisurely, picturesque and enchanting.  I imagined David and I walking arm-in-arm under our red umbrella, pausing to take pictures as gulls called overhead.  I was spot on with the cliffs being picturesque and enchanting, but leisurely our day was not.  My lipstick, springtime brights and freshly done hair didn't prepare me for the mud, sleet, and wind, my ankle boots and pocketless coat did not protect me from the elements.  My coat collar is stained red from the uncountable times it blew into my lips, my hair was matted and torn by the wind (I'm still getting used to this long hair business), and my beautiful H by Hudson boots were almost ruined by the waterlogged earth.  But we survived, dear reader, with raw skin and dirty hands, with muddy feet and dripping wet coats.  We survived!  And we have some nice pictures to prove it.  

After the traipsing and trudging was over and our skin was beginning to warm, we stopped at a pub for a warm meal next to an open fire; a glass of wine was a happy sight, indeed!

> Photos & Scene < Dunorlan Park

At first, she didn't want to go.  The sky was grey and the world was waterlogged after weeks of rain.  "It'll be fun," her husband promised as they pulled on wellies and buttoned their coats.  "The dog will love it.  You'll love it."

The park was close and they walked the path around the pond with the dog between them, behind them, then pulling them forward, tugging against the restraint of the lead.  When the dog wandered off the pavement and ran along to investigate a scent, her paws kicked up bits of turf and left small imprints in the mud.  "We'll have to put her in the shower," the wife said.  "The towels will need bleaching again."

The fog was heavy and trees loomed through the mist like ghosts.  "I love how green the world looks against a grey sky," he said, sidestepping a puddle but staying in step with his wife.  "It's like they're glowing almost, illuminated from within.  You can feel the energy of the green."

"The energy of the green," she repeated. She picked a leaf from a nearby plant, traced the veins with her finger and cut through the greenness with her fingernail. 

Halfway around the pond, they stopped at a bench and let the dog off the lead.  Together, they sat in a contented silence and watched; children ran through puddles, their laughter muted by the breeze and the backs of their jackets flecked with bits of mud.   Men cast their fishing lines into the brown water and ducks clambered over one another, fighting for the bits of bread being tossed into the water by two boys on the bridge.  The husband laughed as their dog chased a black and white spaniel around an evergreen and the wife kept an eye on the pit bull that was running laps around its owner in the field on their right.  Inhaling, they could smell the heaviness of mud, the wetness of the leaves and the rubber from their boots.  The greens in the park were vivid- so vivid- and the world felt very much alive around them.

At two-thirty, the husband checked his watch and then called for the dog.  The three of them began their walk home, the dog running here and there, her fur muddy, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, her nose wet.  Naturally, they fell into step with one another and, as they walked along the path toward home, they both felt glad.
                                                                                               

Photos taken yesterday at Dunorlan Park. 

We Rise at Daybreak

We rise at daybreak, then away to Scotland we go. 

Just found out the haunted mansion we'll be residing in this week whilst in Scotland does not have internet.  Perhaps this is true and I'll enjoy my time off, or perhaps I'll be able to weasel my way onto the interwebs... we shall see.  Just in case I'm forced to abandon you for technical reasons, please know that I will be instaspamming my trip.  Follow along if you'd like.  Or don't.  Whatever.

xxx

Running For The {Tuscan} Hills

I'm having one of those days where I'm just like, I need to move to Italy right now! I mean, Italians don't have problems, right?  They just enjoy life and hang out whilst being chic as hell (proof here, here, here and here) and eating the most delicious food on earth, right?  Right!

Maybe it's just the time of year, or perhaps I'm having postpartum-reading depression after finishing Under The Tuscan Sun, but I cannot stop nostalgically thinking of Italy.  I want to eat fresh figs and look out from the terrace over acres and acres of Tuscan vineyards.  I want to work with my hands and spend my vacations on the rocky beaches of Cinque Terre.  I want to hear the quiet as it spreads through the valley, disturbed only by an occasional dog bark or motorbike, and I want to wake up to the sun.  

One day, I will move to Italy.  I will learn to talk with my hands and master the art of making fresh pasta.  David will wander around the garden and I will write in my study with a window overlooking the valley, long-lost secrets buried beneath the soil.  Family and friends will always be visiting and we won't be shy about putting them to work; together we'll harvest olives which we'll have pressed into beautiful oils, we'll weed the gardens, the bounty of which will fill our stomachs, and tend to the trees in the orchard.  We'll barter at the markets and drink wine at night under the stars.  That is what I want right now for one day.  

(Photos of badass old guys taken in Cinque Terre in September, 2011.)

Top Secret Inspiration

I'm working on a new project that has me thumbing through the illustrations and photos I loved as a child and some of the imagery that has really impacted me over the years.  I don't do Pinterest boards (I see the point, but loath the photo "sharing" policy and attitudes of most pinners) but I do make my own inspiration boards for big projects.  I often gravitate toward things I can physically interact with, especially in the early stages, and I'll often touch, feel, and smell things before photographing them and adding them to my personal inspiration board/thing.  Here are just of the few things that are currently lighting my fire, in order of appearance:

1. My typewriter, which holds such a special place in my heart! It's an Olympia from the 1960s with a script font and color scheme that makes me weak in the knees.
2. Stamped letters (hand stamped with watercolor paint by moi).
3. Chris Ware's witty cover illustrations for the Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition of Voltaire's Candide.
4. A random photo I cut out of a magazine (or something?) while in college. I have a major soft spot for rose prints.  THEY'RE JUST SO PRETTY!
5. A couple notecards from Henry Horenstein's stunning Animalia collection that I bought at the Harvard Museum of Natural History once upon a time.  I've been obsessed with that jellyfish print for years!
6. Quentin Blake's images for Roald Dahl.  His style is simple yet masterfully expressive. 
7. As a girl, Mary Poppins was everything I wanted to be when I grew up and still to this day I try my best to be practically perfect in every way. These simple line drawings by Mary Shepard take me right back to the ginormous plaid armchair I spent so many days nestled in reading as a child.  I love Mary Poppin's gangly figure and always-rosy cheeks.  Perfection, indeed!

As this project moves forward, I'll be sure to share more inspiration and snippets with you. Until that day comes, I will be laboring away like a madwoman!

Inspired By: Katie Quinn Davies

Over the weekend, I took some time to organize my bookmarked pages and clean up my desktop.  I deleted half-finished [and very bad] poetry as well as a couple hundred fuzzy photos and revisited all the websites I've bookmarked over the last six years.  Out of those sites, I found a couple real gems that I used to check into quite regularly but had forgotten about.  In particular, it was nice to revisit food photographer and recipe inventor Katie Quinn Davies of What Katie Ate. I had bookmarked her page very early on in her blogging career.  It's spectacular to see how far she's come since that very first cupcake photo!

Photo by Katie Quinn Davies
Click through for more Ahhhmazing work.
Black is always a stunning background for food, no?

After spending a number of hours scrolling through her work, I was not only starving (she makes food look extra delicious!) but also completely inspired to keep learning about photography, developing a style, and setting up my own still-life shoots.  Katie didn't delve into a photography career until a couple years ago, which encourages me to always be tinkering and experimenting to make my work better.  Additionally, her photography inspires me to look at my surroundings with fresh eyes, to see things around me as props, to notice the texture of surfaces and the way objects catch the light.

I haven't tried any of her recipes yet, but they look absolutely delicious.  Next stop: the kitchen! 

Inspired By: Brian W. Ferry

For a long time, I've been following Brian W. Ferry's work over at the blue hour. He has a gift for seeing the beauty in everyday life: the way a cup of coffee sits on the corner of a table, the way a vine crawls up the side of a cottage in the English countryside, the simplicity of raindrops clinging to a windowpane. His work is always hugely inspirational to me, and I've very much enjoyed watching his photography career flourish, especially over the last year or so.

Brian has two collections of work, both of which I own and highly recommend (if you can get your hands on them), Quality Of Life and Wellfleet:

For the past two years, Brian, an American, lived in London (he's now back in Brooklyn). This may sound silly, but his photos from London play a large role in why I'm so comfortable with moving to the UK. He makes everything look so familiar and comfortable, and I'm really excited to visit some of his former haunts- especially St. John's, which looks exactly like the kind of place where I'll be sure to meet some interesting new friends.

In many ways, the spirit of the blue hour is quite similar to the spirit I am hoping to encapsulate on this site. Rather than focusing my attention on things I want and daydreaming about things I don't have, I instead want to celebrate the beauty that unfolds in my every day life and the unique people and places I encounter on the journey out my front door. Brian does a beautiful job of this, and I hope you find his work as inspiring as I do.

1. Brian Ferry's two collections of photography 2. Flipping pages in Quality of Life 3. One of my favorite facing pages in Quality of Life