Random images from my ‘Inspiration’ folder.

not sure where they’re all from. last one is from I-D magazine, interior shot is from Domino.

I’ve been making hats out of old cashmere sweaters and scraps of antique silk and grosgrain ribbon and mother-of-pearl buttons.

And then I take them outside and take creepy photos of them. They’re both available to buy at the shop.

Today in my Poetry Forms workshop we read a poem about Emily Dickinson by Marilyn Waniek.

Emily Dickinson’s Defunct

She used to
pack poems
in her hip pocket.
Under all the
gray old lady
clothes she was
dressed for action.
She had hair,
imagine,
in certain places, and
believe me
she smelled human
on a hot summer day.
Stalking snakes
or counting
the thousand motes
in sunlight
she walked just
like an Indian.
She was New England’s
favorite daughter,
she could pray
like the devil.
She was a
two-fisted woman,
this babe.
All the flies
just stood around
and buzzed
when she died.

I like the veiled references within the poem to Dickinson’s poems. So far I am seeing “I Heard A Fly Buzz — When I Died”, “There’s A Certain Slant of Light”, “A Narrow Fellow In The Grass”. Can anyone else see any I’ve missed?

So I’m kind of a novice vintage-collector. I pride myself on having quite the nice little capsule collection of pieces from most of my favorite 20th century decades - a beautiful floral 1930s party dress with diamond waist insert, several beautiful evening dresses from the 50s and a very nice collection of 1940s jackets. Not all of it fits me (the 30s dress is woefully too small) but I like having it and staring at it anyway.

I recently found what is probably the best vintage find of my “career”.

1940s French-loomed wool peplum jacket

Look at that waist! That peplum! Those buttons! Ohhhhh.

By Lilli Ann, which I come across quite often in my vintage search. I knew it was an American company, based out of San Francisco, that did high quality suits. But I didn’t know all of this:

Lilli Ann was started in San Francisco in 1933 by Adolph Schuman, naming his company for his wife, Lillian. The company became known for their beautiful, elaborately designed suits and coats.

After WWII, Schuman went to France and it was during this time that the labels had “Paris” added to them. While in France, Schuman was buying fabrics, and many of the labels in Lilli Ann designs also contain the name of the French factory that made the fabric.

Many of these fabrics were bought from small textile companies, that were in such financial straits after the war that they were in danger of closing. Schuman bought from these small companies, and was thus credited with saving many of them from financial ruin. For his efforts Schuman was awarded medals from both France and Italy, and the Lilli Ann customer got a suit made of high quality, hand-loomed fabric.

In the 1960s, there was a popular Lilli Ann Knits line, and a mod-inspired London line. The 1970s brought a career look for Lilli Ann. Adolph Schuman died in 1985, but the company continued under the direction of his heirs. The company was sold in the 1990s, and was closed by 2000.

And guess what? I paid $10 for it.

When Deyrolle, one of the world’s greatest taxidermy establishments, went up in flames last February, Prince Louis Albert de Broglie, who had revived the fabled Paris firm in 2001, vowed to revive it again—with help from Hermès, Christie’s, and the French Army.
Animal House, Vanity Fair, September 2008

Oh it makes me sad that I’ll never get to see Deyrolle as it was. All those beautiful old taxidermy animals, the tiny little drawers in the cabinets, the old calligraphy labels and price-lists. The oak and glass and chrome.

Vanity fair did a lovely article on the fire and restoration efforts of the Parisian shop-cum-natural-history museum. The NY Times also had an article last Friday. If you can get your grubby paws on a copy of the September 08 Vanity Fair with the above article in it, it’s worth it for the photographs alone. Before and after the fire, for sad as it is — the photographs of the damage are eerily, strikingly beautiful.

knitting and watching pride & prejudice.

i am a rockstar, obviously.

I’ve always loved images of unmade beds - preferrably white sheets, soft light, lots of tangles and rumples and folds in the fabric. A pillow still dented from a sleeping head.

Click on the photos to go to their respective Flickr photo pages.

Whenever the weather starts to change, I want to watch this movie.

Beached from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

The North Wind Blew South from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

New craft studio - WIP, originally uploaded by Craft & Creativity.

So, I’m on an organzing / cleaning kick which is quite honestly ONCE IN A LIFETIME. Really.

I want a pretty, well-organized, colorful workspace. My craft table right now (we’re not even going to talk about the actual studio/room because it’s too embarrassing) is a war-zone and it’s getting (ok, it’s got) ridiculous. I can’t find anything, there’s no room to spread out and my boyfriend likes to put his glasses of water on it and then NOT PICK THEM UP. Ever. so I need to make a change.

There are so many amazing groups and photo-sets on flickr that are making me really, really jealous and really, really motivated.

Pretty Organized Group
Craft Rooms Group
Craft & Creativity’s Set
Violet_Peppermint’s Set
Wendy Kay’s Set

Better get to it!

I love grapefruit. I always forget that I do, but I really really love it. Ruby red varieties, mostly, with bitter bitter membranes (am I the only one who likes eating the little ’skins’ between the meat?) and salt on top (again, am I the only one who eats them with salt?). Grapefruits always remind me of my grandfather. Spending the night at my grandparents and waking up early to the sound of my grandmother moving softly around the kitchen. Stumbling in, bleary eyed and birds-nest-hair. Probably in a nightgown with Barbie splashed across the front, itchy polyester and too-tight at the armpits. My grandfather is standing at the counter with his back to me in his white Hanes undershirt tucked into his jeans. Standing at his elbow I watch as he cuts a grapefruit in half and carefully, so carefully, begins to seperate the little triangular sections with the thin-bladed, minuscule-serrated knife. A special knife, just for cutting grapefruit. It has a yellow handle and a wicked curved blade and slides effortlessly between the sections. One, two, three. The juice squirting out onto the countertops, little droplets of pink on the off-white. He shakes salt from the cut-glass salt-shaker, one, two, three. The granules fall like snow and turn transparent as they absorb the juice. A soft, gritty layer.