“Cable Doe” and “Gray Stage”

The other day, while searching for what I thought would be the piece de resistance for Oliver’s Boreal Forest Room: a stag bust or antler hooks, I came across the work of artist Rachel Denny.

Cosy woolen sweaters stretched over foam animals busts, Rachel’s work explores “the seductive beauty of our natural world and the imprint that human intervention has made on its flora and fauna.” I see it also as a commentary on our tendency to anthropomorphize animals. Dressing these elegant creatures in our own image, we view them according to our anthropocentric lens, either as cute, cuddly pets, or conversely, as trophies of our own dominance over nature.

But then again, in Denny’s sculptures there is a softer side. By putting her animals in sweaters – knit from the very fibers of their coats, in a slow process that mimics the organic rhythms of the natural world – Rachel is also attempting to bridge the gap. Reminding us that we are guardians as well as hunters. Or even that though our civilized advancements may separate us from our natural state, we and these beasts are indeed cut from the same cloth.

“Matriarch”

“Bear Cub”

Exquisite flowers brought to you by Boston’s premier florist, Winston Flowers and the very talented photographer, Michael Piazza. See more on my feature on Gardenista today.

Wishing you a great day filled with beauty and love.

My friends at Maven Collective are hosting a stunning photo exhibition this month, Overgrowth, featuring the work of floral designer Riley Messina and photographer Parker Fitzgerald. If you’re lucky enough to be in Portland, OR, you can check it out in person. Or you can enjoy the images here.

Overgrowth is described as an “expression of the multifaceted relationship of between mankind and nature.” If you ask me, Nature seems to be winning. Through their vivid imagery, Messina and Fitzgerald play with how people use pretty florals and benign blooms to adorn themselves and beautify their environment. So long have we cultivated and reaped, made hybrids to suit our pleasure, that we have forgotten that our gardens once belonged to the wilderness. We invite this jungle into our homes, thinking it a tamed beast, and when special occasion calls, we even entwine its tendrils in our hair and on our bodies.

But somewhere along the way Seymour seems to have developed a mind of his own. Or perhaps we just left nature unattended too long, left it unpruned, unpicked. Now it begins to usurp, taking us unawares. No longer the master, we are now subservient, or worse, the host upon which it feeds. We are over grown, obscured.

Or maybe, even unconsciously, we let it happen. When we realized there was greater freedom and harmony in not ruling the world.

A bit of New Year’s inspiration arrived in the mail yesterday – After All, featuring the work of Canadian photographer Laura Letinsky. Recently discovered via Clear North, Laura has become my new muse.

As with much great art, the power of Laura’s work lies in a dichotomy inherent within each piece. At first glance, her photos look like serene still lifes – like minimal, modern versions of the Dutch Masters. In her work we see the dramatic, atmospheric chiaroscuro characteristic of a Vermeer, illuminating a quiet, domestic scene – sumptuous food (not quite a feast) or lush florals. Small and intimate, they draw you in.

Then you notice that all is not what it seemed from a distance. Here again is the decay and allegory of Dutch Golden Age still lifes adapted to an edgier, more contemporary audience. What looked like a precious porcelain vessel is in fact a Dixie cup, more trash than treasure. A pile of luscious peaches is beginning to rot. Flowers are wilting, their water turned to a bilious green. The meal is but a memory. All that is left now is the carnage.

Here also, the simple planes and architecture of traditional tabletop scenes, are pushed to an extreme. Taking advantage of empty space, Laura’s compositions literally teeter on the edge of a void, effecting not just an emotional, but also a physical response to the work. At the same time as you are slightly repelled, you also want to leap in to catch the precarious slop.

If, with their still lives, the historic Dutch Masters seemed to be warning against the detachment that comes from too much decadence and overindulgence, Letinsky’s pieces appear to caution against a more modern indifference. One, that in our rush towards increasing technological efficiency and instant gratification, makes us dismissive of the past and disdainful of the slow. One in which, if we are not careful, may cause us to miss those things that truly make life worth living: a bouquet of wild flowers placed in your grandmother’s antique vase, or a laugh shared with friends over a home cooked meal.

Melbourne artist, illustrator and ceramicist Kerry Scheen is the talent behind the enchanting world of Linogirl. A graduate in printmaking and photography at RMIT, she also studied gold and silversmithing, before teaching herself the art of ceramics. Now, from her garden studio in the shadow of Mount Macedon, Kerry can be found at work on her limited edition vessels, prints, and wearable art.

Much like the setting in which they are formed, Kerry’s intimate pieces reflect both the uncertainty and awe of the solitary individual in the vast landscape. Though they may cast an eye over the horizon, as yet, her characters appear a bit shy of the world beyond. Inwardly focussed, they feel somehow familiar and knowable. Vulnerable, they invite us to cradle and care for them. And yet there is always that blank landscape beckoning. We are aware that our vigil will only take them so far. Soon the lines will fill in and become more complex, and more colors will begin to show.

Or perhaps the critters on Kerry’s works are a mirror of our own maturation. And when our paths take us beyond the sheltered nest, it might be time to pass Linogirl’s pieces on to the next generation to cheerish and hold.

misiu

As promised here is more Joanna Concejo, the illustrator whose work I discovered via a tea towel on Remodelista.

Polish born, now living in Paris, Joanna Concejo is one of those rare illustrators whose work is as captivating for adults as it is for children. This universal appeal, I think, stems from Joanna’s ability to create subjects which are immediately engaging and then ultimately enigmatic. Mercurial pups or ruminative bears at first are playful and personable, but then there is something more… complex. It’s as if anthropomorphism is a double edged sword: the price of coming to tea is that they must also bare the heavier mantels of human consciousness.

Similarly Joanna’s compositions are seemingly simple and often intricately beautiful. But much like a piece of hand-stitched lace, they are deeply storied. There is fantasy and the fantastical at play here. The more you look, the more unexpected details catch your eye, the more layers are revealed, increasing your wonder and at the same time making you question your original assumptions. The whole scene then becomes precarious. At first merely charming, the delicately rendered and diminutive characters are now made all the more precious by the wide, open planes they inhabit. It’s as if this intimate scene is but one fleeting moment in a vast lifetime of unknowable adventures to come. Look away and it might be gone forever.

Read about Joanna’s work from her own lips in this interview from Oh Comely.

mala

misui

un peu de nostalgie

a my w placz

Some of Joanna’s work, including her whimsical tea towels and ceramics, is for sale at La Maison de Pompon.

tea pot via plantkui

Feeling under the weather today, and find myself gravitating to quiet places. Gentle curves. Tactile, soothing. Dark, dappled warmth. Pleasing to the touch, yet not too much of a strain on weary eyes.

Vilhelm Hammershøi, portrait of Anna Hammershøi, 1884

Oliver in the morning sun, by me

molding clay via Herriott Grace

wisteria by Xenia

a rock, by me

Botanic Collection No.2 – Fine Art Photograph – Composition II – The Tempo of Life No.1

I arrived home from my California vacation last week to find Boston abloom with spring. Up high, clouds of apple green buds brushed the tree tops. While a blush of petal pink cherry blossoms and fuschia azaleas candied the middle ground. And everywhere down low, the sunny faces of daffodils shone on the vernal landscaped.

To celebrate, I thought I’d share with you the botanical images of artist Ing San of Tropical Garden. A graphic and textile designer from Borneo, San’s work includes photography and illustration as well as embroidery. But it is her Botanic Collection that, to me, captures the simple beauty of spring.

Unlike the decadent colors and ostentatious heat of summer, spring is a crisp, clean time. San’s portraits, in which only a few verdant leaves burst forth against a minimal white backdrop, evoke this literal “re-freshening” of the land and spirit. Delicate, yet expressive, they are precious promises of the bounty to come. Microcosm’s of a larger spring landscape, where after a long barren winter, just one lone sprout or a single leaf is enough to warm the heart.

Botanic Collection No.2 – Fine Art Photograph – Composition I – Green Melody No.1

Botanic Collection No.2 – Fine Art Photograph – Composition II – The Tempo of Life No.3

Botanic Collection No.2 – Fine Art Photograph – Composition I – Green Melody No.2

Concept, design, styling, photography by Frieda Mellema = Lab 71, a place of beauty and inspiration, where you can also shop (my favorite kind).

Found via Facebook, the photographs of Frieda Mellema are instantly captivating. Delicate, light, and feminine, they have a wonderful sense of movement. Richly storied, they possess an air of everyday fantasy, that seems to celebrate the joy and adventure in even the smallest thing. Intimate, they draw you in, like a whispered conversion between friends.

The individual goods in Frieda’s shop also have a deeply personal, whimsical feel. They are mini treasures handmade for only you. (I myself am coveting her jolly tablecloths with bouncing orange orbs.)

pressed seaweed by Karen Schumacher

Over-employed by ephemera fanatics and beach-cottage-chic-o-philes, seaweeds prints have become somewhat cliche. The same has happened to coral, which I’m not sure will ever recover. But this coastal New Englander, who grew up playing “seal family” among the rock weed and lashing long lengths of kelp as I lept down the beach, is reluctant to relinquish seaweed all-together. So perhaps it’s time we reexamine the beauty of these aquatic specimens.

Shaped by the sea, the languid, fanning fronds of seaweed often have an exotic, alien appeal to us landlubbers. They are archetypal, fantastic – the gardens of mermaids. Their forms are intriguing, animalian, spreading tentacles like some Leviathan of the deep. When pressed seaweed specimens take on an almost calligraphic effect. As extemporaneous as a Chinese painting, they appear as landscapes unto themselves, both architectural and fluid.

Delicate and ephemeral, graceful, and full of personality, seaweeds need not be so hackneyed. Apply them sparingly and in a surprising way, and they’re as fresh as a little salt spray on your face.

vignette with seaweed print styled by Sue Teso of Solstice Home

antique print from Hindsvik; one of 19th century Irish botanist William Henry Harvey’s Capistrano series from Natural Curiosities

room featuring a William Henry Harvey kelp via Victoria Fitchett

seaweed print styled by Kim Ludy of Ethanollie

19th century English Henry Bradbury seaweed print from NG Art Prints. You can see more images of Bradbury’s original prints shot by Robin Camille here.

The Biology of the Seashore, fine art photo by Jennifer Booher of Quercus Design

Other notable seaweed samples and sources:
Seaweed Miniatures by Jane Dobson
seaweed paintings by Kate Pugsley