bits of my bedroom

I love the Nouveau style of this earring tree. I particularly love that it was only $5.

Porcelain rose necklace with suede ties. I never wear it...look how big it is!

I try it on from time to time, but then I picture myself getting tipsy and tripping and falling on my face, which would of course result in shards of rose petals being driven into my throat. Then my loved ones would have to explain that I was killed by a necklace.

A print by one of my favorite photographers, Sheila Metzner, and a framed Alphonse Mucha postcard of Sarah Bernhardt.

A closer look. The print is actually one of many pages that I tore out of a Metzner book when I was a (stupid) teenager. I then lost what was left of the book. Said book is long out of print and now costs $$$. Sigh.

some ephemera...

A 1907 leather postcard to a Miss Mildred Clemens of Portland, OR. Leather postcards were banned a few years later by the post office, as their new sorting machines couldn't handle the thickness of the leather...

Found photo. Loving the curly headed kid on the left, his sailor tie and the casual way he has his hand in his pocket...

 

An old photocopy of an old driver's license of mine. I keep it around because my hair during that era was so hilarious. Permed, dyed blonde and moussed. It all added up to me having an inadvertent resemblance to cheesy 80s hair bands...

And finally, a 1920s Chinese bath powder label. Love that long lost vintage Shanghai glamor...

bubbles!

Hable Construction Frame

Scattered Dots Fabric

Nani Iro Fabric

Alexander Wang Bubble Print Dress

Philosophy Bubble Bath

Bubble Lace Ring

Bosa Bubbles Candleholder

Bauble Bracelet

inspiration from 1948

From a Living For Young Homemakers magazine:

A couple who moved to Santa Fe. Love the girl's style, which would work just as well today...

Built by Wendy

Steven Alan

Gryson

80%20%

Also, I would like to move to Santa Fe.

kids today

There is so much great art out there that depicts children and the haunted world that they inhabit. Our cultures are becoming less innocent and distinct, and we find ourselves increasingly removed from the traditions and stability of the past. Some of our best artists are incorporating these issues into their work. Their images have a beauty and sweetness to them, but often the sweetness is curdled with an air of menace, melancholy or isolation...

Recovery is a Discovery. Caroline Hwang

I Learned That With You. Caroline Hwang

Snakes. Jen Corace

Envy. Hidden Eloise

Your Legs Grow. Katherine Chiu

Watch You Grow. Katherine Chiu

Playing Dead and Taking a Nap. Ramis Kim

Wolves. Catherine Ryan

girls and owls...

...Kareena Zerefos

1st discovered through Fairspot.

bunnies and mushrooms...

...etc. Klala.

after the storm

everything is clean and fresh again...

John Updike (1932-2009)

Reading at Twilight

One of my favorite writers....no one could make the ordinary so beautiful...

He was born in Reading, Pennsylvania, the place he based his Rabbit books on.

I would get homesick when I lived in season-less Hawaii, and whenever I did, I would re-read some Updike. He made the midwestern Rust Belt where I've spent most of my life so vivid.

An excerpt from Rabbit Run:

Outdoors it is growing dark and cool. The Norway maples exhale the smell of their sticky new buds and the broad living-room windows along Wilbur Street show beyond the silver patch of a television set the warm bulbs burning in kitchens, like fires at the backs of caves. He walks downhill. The day is gathering itself in. He now and then touches with his hand the rough bark of a tree or the dry twigs of a hedge, to give himself the small answer of a texture. At the corner, where Wilbur Street meets Potter Avenue, a mailbox stands leaning in twilight on its concrete post. Tall two-petaled street sign, the cleat-gouged trunk of the telephone pole holding its insulators against the sky, fire hydrant like a golden bush: a grove. He used to love to climb the poles. To shinny up from a friend's shoulders until the ladder of spikes came to your hands, to get up to where you could hear the wires sing. Their song was a terrifying motionless whisper. It always tempted you to fall, to let the hard spikes in your palms go and feel the space on your back, feel it take your feet and ride up your spine as you fell. He remembers how hot your hands felt at the top, rubbed full of splinters from getting up to where the spikes began. Listening to the wires as if you could hear what people were saying, what all that secret adult world was about.

call of the wild

inspired by Erica Svensson...

and the drawings of Silver Horn...

and these...

French Connection wrap

freebird necklaces

Hopi fringe boot

beads shirt

hair feather clip