hibernian homme

Highland Fling, Part Two

2012-01-24T15:58:00.002-05:00

Ok, shall we try again?

Years before we ever met Uncle Matthew or Lady Montdore, before Linda or Cedric, Nancy Mitford wrote Highland Fling. Nancy was only 26 (I better start working) when she wrote the book and in it she tells us the life of the upper class and Bright Young People, something she new well. Many of the characters would later evolve into the famous characters the world would fall in love with. It stars Albert Memorial Gates, from whom Cedric 'descends' - Cedric was a character I always wanted to read more of in Love in a Cold Climate- a Victorian-obsessed aesthete, painter and ex-patriot recently returned to England from a stay in Paris. Our other star is Jane Dacre (an early Linda) a typical gal of the Lost Generation who loves to be rebellious to, even though she love admires dearly, her parents. The two of them join Sally and Walter Monteath, who have been asked by rich relatives to care for guests in a castle in the Highlands.

A heavy book this is not, but filled with laughable scenes between the four 'Bright Young' ones and the more traditionally-minded, old-fashioned aristocrats it is. Although Nancy was, in reality, of the younger set, she tells her story honestly. One evening older Mr. Buggins sadly recounts to the younger ones that before the War he had a promising artistic career but felt it his duty to serve his country during the War. His best years were spent fighting and now he lived a somewhat dire existence. He was just one of the countless other similar cases. The divide must have been great during this generation, but I wonder what Nancy's friends and contemporaries thought when they read this scene back in 1931?

Overall I loved it. I really enjoyed and related to Albert, not as flamboyant as Cedric but equally as comical. It wasn't at the same level (perfection) as The Pursuit of Love but it has a close running with it's sequal. I'm so glad Capuchin Classics has decided to reprint this gem, just another to add to my Mitford addiction.

And why, you may ask, have I chosen to show Prada's collection along with this discussion? I felt it so apt for Albert; the long coats, sunglasses and trousers would be something I can see him lounging about the Highland grounds in, or whilst trying to discover another Victorian treasure in the endless attics.

Highland Fling by Nancy Mitford

2012-01-24T11:13:00.000-05:00

Just wrote the longest review of my life about Highland Fling by Nancy Mitford and LOST IT ALL as I was adding the finishing touches!! I HATE BLOGGER!!

I'm so angry I can't even think of re-writing it. Nevertheless I loved the book, compared it with the others, how it was a milder version of her later more famous works.

And described how Albert Memorial Gates would most certainly be wearing the latest Prada collection.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bed to throw myself and cry on!

The Hay Wain

2012-01-16T07:55:00.002-05:00

'The Arrival of the Jarrow Marchers' by TC Dugdale

I'm sick in bed, but over-the-moon because I can spend the day giggling whilst I read 'Highland Fling,' Nancy Mitford's first-hand account of the Bright Young People of her time. I will talk about it more fully once I've finished but this little quote struck me as so modern, so applicable for our time:

To 'The Hay Wain' they went. Albert felt battered with fatigue and longed for his bed. This time they approached their destination by means of a fire-escape, and when they had successfully negotiated its filthy rungs, they found themselves in a long, low, rather beautiful attic. There were rushes on the floor, pewter and wild flowers (which being dead, slightly resembled bunches of hay) on the tables, and the seats were old-fashioned oak pews, narrow, upright, and desperately uncomfortable.

A waiter, dressed in a smock which only made him look more like a waiter than ever, handed them a menu written out in Gothic lettering. Ten or twelve other people were scattered about the room, none of them were in evening dress. They all looked dirty and bored.

Mitford wrote this in London in 1931, but easily this could be Brooklyn 2012. A place where C.C. Blair the younger could spend hours talking with the barman about the bitters made-in-house, or we could retire in the early hours for a night cap.

* * * *

And on the subject of Bright Young People, I realized that at this moment many of my nearest and dearest have blogs of their own, a way for me to keep up with them while I'm on the Continent. Something Miss Mitford would surely have loved while she was in Paris.

My kindred-spirit, soul-sister, St. K., has a lovely blog with a juxtaposition of images only she could create, and that with few words can create a world for us she only knew was in our deepest of hearts: Strange Fruit

Her other half, Micah, another dearest of mine has put his clever thoughts from our sauna conversations into writing, while reading and sharing his experiences from the books of 'Le Monde 100': Man is Men

Miss Jenna has escaped her post as an elementary school teacher in Brooklyn and run for the hills. The hills of the Great North West to be exact. She shares her lovely forest and field experiences here: Flushing the Noun

Anzelina followed the Oregon Trail and found solid gold: her husband now! She gives us wonderful bits of this and that from Portland that make her eye so unique and captivating: Scattergoods Creative

Sarah blows me away every day with the blog posts she creates. Not only are they desperately beautiful, interesting and one-of-a-kind, but they are consistent. I'd love to know what she takes to turn out such creativity: The Wolf of Insignificance

The Black Monk by Anton Chekhov

2012-01-12T13:58:00.000-05:00

Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich

There is nothing better than finishing a book that really didn't fly with you and starting one that makes you fall in love with reading like it's the first time. When I finished The Wings of the Dove I honestly went to my bookshelf and picked up the shortest book I could find. Am I pathetic for doing this?...I think so. Regardless, what I found in my hands was The Black Monk and Peasants, two short stories by Anton Chekhov, an author I'd never read nor known anything on. What followed was a nail-biting reading on the train ending with the book clutched to my heart with eyelashes fluttering. He's amazing! And I can't wait to read more of his work!

The Black Monk brings us Andrey Kovrin, an intellectual man, exhausted and looking for some peace in his friend, Yegor Pesotsky's sprawling gardens and estates. He spends his time resting, exploring the gardens with Pesotsky's daughter Tanya, but overall feeling happy and content. A legend of a Black Monk comes to his mind one day and later out in the fields has a brief encounter with him. Days later, Kovrin meets this seemingly beatific vision again and this time converses about his own supposed Divine purpose. After each meeting his face is aglow and his spirits are raised. Tanya becomes his wife and the years pass without meeting the monk again until one night when they have a similar conversation while Tanya sleeps next to him. She's awakened, startled to see the husband she loves talking to himself, and insists his overexhaustion has taken the best of him and forces 'help' on him.

Chekhov was a physician, so the fact that he so vividly portrayed the 'healing' process fascinated me! Kovrin becomes miserable and starts hating the world. Was he better off seeing visions? Or is he better living a numb life, where nothing is imaginary? This quote, to his wife, was my favorite:

'How fortunate Buddha, Muhammad or Shakespeare were in not being treated by kind-hearted relatives for ecstasy and inspiration!' Kovrin said. 'If Muhammad had taken potassium bromide for his nerves, had worked only two hours a day and drunk milk, then that remarkable man would have left as much to posterity as his dog. In the long run doctors and kind relatives will turn humanity into a lot of morons. Mediocrity will pass for genius and civilization will perish. If only you knew, Kovrin added with annoyance, 'how grateful I am to you!'

What path does Kovrin choose? I'll let you find that yourself, and I suggest you do!

Russian writers are something new for me (despite pretentiously trying to read War and Peace when I was 13 years old), but after reading these two shorts I have such a thirst for all things Chekhov and Russian! Recommendations welcome, dears!

Portrait of Chekhov by Issak Levitan, 1886

Darling I hope that my dream never haunted you

2012-01-09T08:37:00.001-05:00

Gyula Batthyány (Hungary, 1888 - 1959), Untitled

The Road

2012-01-06T07:34:00.001-05:00

What's in your suitcase?

'The Road' by Laura Callaghan from Laura Laura Picture Drawer

Have a lovely weekend!

Castel Gardena

2012-01-05T16:13:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I can't motivate myself to upload my pictures from my adventure in the mountains, but alas! I'm on vacation mode still, so they will have to wait. Instead I give you pictures of Castel Gardena in Trentino-Alto Adige, taken by a professional! I'll add this place to my check list of places-I-will-retire-to-in-fourty-or-four-years. It's true the mountains, as seen above, in the Dolomites are different. The peaks sort of explode straight into the heavens.

Oh how I miss my wood stove! The dampness here kills me. And to think I'm Irish? The people I stayed with had a tiled stove similar to this one, minus it being centuries old. As you can imagine I was never two feet from it.

Today I was the first day of January sales, and I survived! Not without getting the wind knocked out of me twice by a gigantic Prada and aerodynamic Alexander McQueen shopping bag, though. I can honestly say today was the first day I had to fight for my life while shopping...with all men. Today was living proof that Milanese men care more about the way they look then any other. I did manage to claw away (it wasn't easy, honestly) two coats to help me survive the rest of the winter.

La Nebbia

2012-01-03T07:36:00.000-05:00

The Milanese fog or "nebbia" is strong this morning. Not that I can complain, we've had an unusually warm and sunny autumn, but on dark days today shouldn't we all follow the example of the mistress above? I wonder what she's reading?

Portrait by Felix Vallotton, a Swiss painter connected with Les Nabis

The Wings of the Dove

2012-01-02T07:16:00.000-05:00

Let's start the year off proper. A brief book discussion is in order!

Comtesse de Castiglione by Pierre-Louis Pierson 1867

Do you remember more than a month ago when I went to Venice, I said I was going to start reading Henry James' The Wings of the Dove? Well, I have finally pecked away at it to it's last crumb, and can't help but feel like I'm still a bit...peckish? There is something about Henry and I that just do not meld together, which is strange as I love his friend and contemporary, Edith Wharton, wildly! Is it the endless descriptions -pages!- that start to bore me or have me loosing concentration? Or was it just the case with this book? I'd like to try reading The Aspern Papers, his novella on Venice. What is your viewpoint on him? Please tell me I'm not alone!

Nevertheless, The Wings of the Dove tells a somewhat malicious story of a poor Mr. Densher and another Kate Croy, who find themselves in love but under the command of Kate's Aunt Maud. Aunt Maud refuses to allow Kate to marry for love a man with no money. Along comes our 'dove,' Milly, an American millionairess, alone in the world with money coming out of her ears, yet who seems to be struggling with a terminal illness. Conniving Kate suggests Milly to Densher, as she's impossibly rich and dying...which given time will give the two of them a means to be together. Terrible? Yes. Compelling? A bit. I won't spoil the end but as these stories of wicked souls go, the end is often like a sad Chinese film. This was no exception.

Asta Nielsen in Den Sorte Drøm (The Black Dream), 1911

I will give Henry James credit where it is do. The scenes of dialogue were more than exciting, almost page-turner worthy, but unfortunately they only made up about 30 percent of the book. And the last 25 pages were not only made up of all drama-filled dialogue, but also really finished the story with a bang. A bang big enough for me to maybe try another of his stories. Can you give me any suggestions?

A rose will bloom...

2011-12-30T10:44:00.001-05:00

...and then will fade

If you had been at the great Stazione Centrale last night, an Art Deco masterpiece, you would have found me sunkissed, content and loaded down with shopping bags full of cheeses(yes it's true, Carrick), produce, speck, part of a gigantic panettone and other delights from my trip to the snowy Dolomites. They were spectacular, something impossible to capture on film...but I'll talk about that trip next year.

As we travel into the next year, it's impossible not to think of the changes that have happened in our lives. Can you believe it will be 2012? No. I can't either. If we go back ten years, we were still living in the recent memory of the Twin Towers falling, I was in High School, hating life and everyone in it, wishing I was 10 years older.

I can gladly say my outlook has changed for the better, but I'm also pleased that I've fulfilled what age 15 Daniel wanted in life! If you had asked me then: Where would you like to be in 10 years? I would have either rolled my eyes and continued reading my book, or I'd say, 'I dunno Italy, France, London? I'd like to live in Europe for sometime or New York.'

It's nice to look back and say you've accomplished your goals, Lord knows there are about a million others unfulfilled. I wonder what next year will bring you and I? Let's hope it's another goal answered.

Images from my recent trip to the stunning city of Verona

Artecchino moderno

2011-12-22T09:03:00.000-05:00

I'm sick in bed, nursing myself with funny youtube clips, tea, and Strangers with Candy episodes, pondering how in the world am I going to teach for four hours tonight. If I die on one of my students at least I'm going out the way I want.

This week I've officially made my residency here at the Commune, which means free health care (hello dermatologist!), I can now buy a car (I'm not), but leaves me a bit sad saying good by to my Yankee roots. I'm being entirely overdramatic, but it all feels very permanent.

It is the final step you have to make with the legal immigration process here, so I feel like I've not only won a marathon, but an Iron Man championship or the Olympic Gold in Male Figure Skating! One or the other!

winter is coming

2011-12-20T07:40:00.001-05:00

source: unknown

In the meantime, in between time...

2011-12-19T16:13:00.001-05:00

...ain't we got fun?

'The Great Gatsby' brings back a shudder of memories, namely my 11th-Grade English teacher's large underbelly popping out from an oversized Tweetie T-shirt (she ruined a lot of books for me), but I love the film! Well almost...everything but Robert Redford (go ahead throw some tomatoes at me). It was filmed near my house, in Newport, where Great Gatsby Sunday's would be arranged and we could all tour Rosecliff feeling very nouveau riche, sipping Veuve, donning the latest Molyneaux. Some of that may be be a daydream, but to see the image above gives me such great hope. I think Baz Luhrmann will really be able to capture my favorite era, and maybe create (to me) an even more perfect Gatsby.

Image found at my new favorite blog: Fox and Flyte

Mount Stuart

2011-12-16T11:55:00.003-05:00

Today was thankfully the last day of school for the next three weeks, and after the five hour exam on Wednesday, it's greatly needed! I passed (not as high as I'd like) and am now in level B1 but feel I'm at that infamous learning-a-language plateau, where you learn so much and then just suddenly stop, whilst everything jumbles around inside your brain coming out in an incorrect way. I hear this is normal, but it's a bit frustrating. I'll take the next few weeks to sleep properly and hopefully allow everything to find the right place in my brain.

I've been looking on Easy Jet and Ryan Air's websites on a daily basis, dreaming of places to go for a weekend. My options are endless and all for 15 Euros, cheaper than taking a train to Bologna! Maybe England, to London for a book buying binge. Or Ireland beckons, where I can discover my Hibernian roots in County Kerry. Copenhagen, Marrakesh, Berlin, Prague, Stokholm: there's so little of the world I've really seen. Or Scotland, where I could have a Highland Fling, and visit an ancestral estate like Mount Stuart, home of the Marquess of Bute.

For more photos of this stunning place: HERE

Studio Peregalli

2011-12-14T10:06:00.001-05:00

[Photo by Aurora Di Girolamo © The Invention of the Past: Interior Design and Architecture by Studio Peregalli, by Laura Sartori Rimini and Roberto Peregalli, Rizzoli New York, 2011]

On a dreary day like today, I'd love to crawl onto my couch (see above), skip work, make myself a cup of tea and finish my book....if only. And if only that really was my sitting room. Instead it's the masterwork of Laura Sartori Rimini and Roberto Peregalli of the Milanese architecture and design firm, Studio Peregalli. Isn't it just perfection?

The other day I found their book The Invention of the Past in a local bookshop and was instantly spellbound. It's filled to the brim with photos of their designs, each unique and painfully gorgeous. Have you seen the book? Have you known about Studio Peregalli for years? Have I just been living under a rock? Their office is near my school, I'm thinking of going in one day during the break, throw myself on their desk and beg for a job. Ms. Rimini wears her hair in marcelled waves...even more reason to love them!

Venezia e' un pesce

2011-12-07T09:30:00.001-05:00

Venice is a city full of contrasts, especially the light. As dark and brooding as the nights are, as shadowy the corners are, there are moments of truly luminous light. You walk through a dark alley and are emptied out into a piazza overlooking the lagoon, where the light is so brilliant you must blindly search your bag for your Persols.

This photo was an obvious mistake of overexposure, but I love how it came out. Sometimes mistakes make the most dreamy photos, isn't it true?

Now walk around the corner and you had better take off your occhiali. This is the cavernous galleria housing the fish market, where I found some of the most fresh fish I've seen since the back of my father's boat. Maybe we can try a local Tocai at that bacaro across the street?

Let's duck into the inumbrated palazzo of the great Fortuny. Even the courtyard reflects his almost ghostly sense of style...

Now let's end the day on Giudecca, the outer island of Venice, where the true Venetian still lives, and where you can still find fishermen picking through their nets like back home, and where the salty smell of low tide makes you painfully homesick for Point Judith, which is something you never thought you'd ever say.

As you can see, I quickly became infatuated with Venice. But I think it was it's relationship with the sea which I loved the most. And as I told my parents in their postcard, 'You can take the boy out of New England, but you can't take the New England out of the boy...'

La Serenissima

2011-11-30T16:52:00.000-05:00

Venice is beautiful at all times, but the nights, with their desolate streets, tiny alley ways, beautiful lights, blustery passages are what make Venice her most radiant. There weren't many tourists when I was visiting due to the time of year, but when they left with the sun, the city completely changed. In 'The Aspern Papers' Henry James wrote that Venice was like a large apartment, with it's streets as it's hallways, it's piazzas and courtyards it's rooms. You never really leave the apartment.* And that feeling really is true. As I was walking down a tiny, dimmly-lit street back to my hotel (after a last minute decision to go to La Fenice!), passing an odd Venetian returning from work, it really felt like I was just in the back passage of an old villa passing a fellow worker.

I spent too long a time trying to capture the spirit with these pictures. If you had been on the Grand Canal last week you would've found a boy laying stomach-down on a dock trying to set the shutter and capture a pleasant view at the same time. But alas! no one was around to find him there, which made him love the city even more.

*Read this lovely quote in 'Venice is a Fish' by Tiziano Scarpa. If you go to Venice, I highly recommend you make this book your first companion as I did.

Tra: The Edge of Becoming

2011-11-28T09:21:00.001-05:00

Venice. Venezia. Venexia.

Are there words to describe this absolutely breathtaking city? No, in fact the whole time I was wandering aimlessly through the salizade and calle I kept on trying to find the perfect word. As of yet, nothing.

I'm still uploading and editing my photos so I'll share a little something I wasn't able to photograph. The Palazzo Fortuny was hosting a show curated by Axel Vervoordt, and as he was so admired by my former employer I felt it my obligation to see what his show 'Tra' was all about. First off, the Palazzo Fortuny is a crumbling (quite literally) palazzo where the great Renaissance man, Mariano Fortuny, set up shop creating sculpture, textiles, photography, paintings, clothing, architectural renderings, etc etc. The man was a genious, and honestly I knew close to nothing about him before going.

The first floor was darkly lit, displaying a few pieces of art contrasting greatly, a modern video installation together with an ancient Southeast Asian sculpture etc. The room was in Vervoordt's traditional Wabi Sabi style, old floorboards, dark walls, minimally earthy. I was starting to feel a little disappointed, as much as I love him.

A corner of Fortuny's workplace, not during this Installation but gorgeous nonetheless

What awaited me, though, on the second floor, Mariano's studio, completely forced those thoughts out of my ignorant brain. Fortuny's studio is a thing of beauty in itself. Imagine his gorgeous textiles covering every inch of wall, while the Eastern lamps he designed hang from the ceiling. But to add on top of that, Axel has filled the room with art from every time, every corner of the Earth, placing them in these beautifully lit rooms in a way I think only Fortuny could have thought up. A Flemish masterpiece of the 17th century, next to a Kandinsky, next to a dress designed by Fortuny, next to surgical table filled with enlarged crystal organs. I was breathless, my heart was palpitating, I was wishing I was there with someone who would feel my same sentiments, clutching their arm lest I faint.

Chen Zhen, Crystal Landscape of Inner Body (2000)

Room after room beckoned my exploration and it was a pity the museum was closing as I could have spent more hours trying, attempting to take it all in. The final floor (I skipped one, interesting yes, but not significant) was the attic, with exposed beams, and Fortuny's first studio, before he gradually took over the entire Palazzo. Among the sculptures of Man Ray, there was a labyrinth in the middle designed by Vervoordt himself. Each tiny alley led you to something different all in his unique, inimitable style.

So do you want to go? I wish I could take you with me all again, but alas! the installation ended this Saturday along with the rest of the Biennale. I recommend you buy the book, something I think I will have to do at a later time. I'm so glad I thought to visit the show right before it closed, powers within must have guided me.

The Return of the Soldier

2011-11-23T10:05:00.001-05:00

A long, long time ago: last spring, when I was staying in Italy the first time, Thomas from My Porch, was kind enough to send me books in English. They are not easy to come by, and my desperate suplication must have pulled some heartstrings because he sent over five books, all of interest to me, and not commonly found in Italian bookstores. The bad news was once my visa expired, I had to escape into the night disguised as a gypsy, ruturning to United States unscathed, meanwhile the package of books arriving at my old apartment. Such is life. Imagine my excitement, though, where upon arriving not only did I get to pick up my old things, I also now had five new books in my possesion!

The first I picked one morning last week was 'The Return of the Soldier' by Rebecca West. At first glance, I was sceptical. I normally don't like war stories, and the cover made it look like a story similar to something my dad would read. But how wrong I was! Chris, a soldier of the Great War, returns home with no memory of the last 15 years. Three women wait for him. His cousin Jenny - the narrator of the story, Kitty, his wife of ten years, and Margaret, the woman he was in love with as a young man. Imagine being Kitty, the wife of someone who has no memory whatsover of her looking on as her now childlike husband can't help showing affection to his young love. This brief but incredibly beautiful story shows the struggle of doing what's right despite wanting something else. Incredibly poignant and gripping - I nearly missed my stop twice whilst reading this.

Here is a quote I loved when Chris first returns home:

He was looking along the corridor and saying, 'This house is different.' If the soul has to stay in its coffin till the lead is struck asunder, in its captivity it speaks with such a voice.

I fell in love with this book, and am curious to read more Rebecca West, have you read any of her others?

* * *

Yesterday, I sneezed in class and one of my students enthusiastically said: CHEESE! He meant to say 'Cheers' which still wasn't correct.

* * *

Tomorrow I'm going to Venice! Taking classes, teaching and teaching equals a lot of giving of energy and no recieving. As a closet introvert, I start to detest anyone who strikes up a conversation with me when this happens, which I hate about myself. To aid this I'm off for a few days to somewhere I've always wanted to go, especially after reading 'Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.' I'm bringing along 'Venice is a Fish,' an excellent book to reread written by a Venetian, 'Wings of the Dove,' by Henry James (I'm not sure this is a good idea-he bores me so) and some comedies by famous Venexiano, Carlo Goldoni! A prossima settimana!

{Editor's note: My friend Carrick (CC Blair the Younger) read this post and said it sounds like I'm having a mid-twenties crisis. Ha! Please don't think that...just a brief...moment of refreshment!}

A Sunday look-at-oneself in the mirror and other curiosities

2011-11-20T12:32:00.000-05:00

Last week, as I mentioned earlier, I encountered this painting firsthand at the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana. In the somewhat cavernous galleries of the collection, there we find Caravaggio's Basket of Fruit, lit up like the gem it already is, begging us to touch it even though the old security guard is breathing down our inquisative necks. I, of course, didn't touch it and didn't have to. It's beauty, luminosity and clarity really took my breath away, reaffirming my tempestuous love affair with Caravaggio.

Later at home, doing extensive research on him (on wikipedia) I found out how old he was when he painted this masterpiece. Not the 50-something like I expected, not even 30-something. He was 24 years old. Twenty four. Two four. ie: My age. How can someone be such a master of something at such a young age? What did I do wrong? Is being a master of something even on my horizon? On anyone's horizon? I'm not expecting answers, but if you do perchance have one or two, I'm all ears.

A sojourn in the classroom

2011-11-16T16:26:00.001-05:00

As most of you know, along with studying Italian, I've been supporting myself by teaching English. I've been enjoying it more that I expected, and although at times draining, hunger-inducing and mind-knumbing, I'm wondering why I haven't been doing it longer.

Sometimes my students really make me laugh, and although it's wrong to laugh at their mistakes or when they say something funnily, I just can't help it. Thankfully Italians are very easy to laugh themselves. I have a group of students on Saturday mornings that are all about eight years old. No one in the school wants to teach them, but they really make me laugh, so I take them gladly. Especially since I have to teach the class in Italian, I get my ample share of being laughed at.

It can be humbling at times, though, humble for whom I don't know, but when I'm correcting a Milanese man who owns a multi-million euro company, I can't help but feel a bit sympathic for him. Here I am, 25 years old, correcting his "I don' will know when to happen," where by day he is in control of hundreds of people around the world.

Last night, I was playing a group activity with basic-intermediate English, with the group divided into two teams. They had to complete simple sentences, "I was brought up..." what's the past participle of 'buy,' spell "proficient," etc etc. The turn was to a dark, Sicilian security guard, very manly with a very strong resemblence to Jon Lovitz. I asked: "I used to be...?"

After one minute of silence he responded:

"I used to be... blonde."

I seriously almost peed my pants I was laughing so hard, and the whole class was on the floor with me, including the serious Russian with the Hermes bag who never smiles. Moments like that, stupid as they are, really make everything worth it.

Image: NYPL

Suzanne Jongmans

2011-11-15T16:16:00.000-05:00

...So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea....

-'Annabel Lee,' Poe

Some Poe to accompany gorgeous photographs by Dutch artist, Suzanne Jongmans. Vermeer would be proud. For more, please go heerwarts

Se una notte d'inverno un viaggiatore

2011-11-14T01:00:00.001-05:00

Sometimes you need to give a book a second chance, just like anything else. When I first read 'If on a Winter's Night a Traveller,' it was the middle of the summer in Rhode Island. With good reason I had a hard time getting through it. In fact it lay unfinished on my shelf for years. Now that I'm here in Italy, in country that at this very moment has no government, the book couldn't be more perfect. This book celebrates the reader, reading, books and everything exciting about the written word. It also celebrates the confusion of living in Italy. 'You' the reader find a book, but unfortunately after finishing it's first chapter realize it's unfinished. When you start another, that book also changes after the first gripping chapter. And so on and so on. Confusing? Of course, but Calvino so brilliantly writes 10 first chapters in completely different styles, each capturing you in it's pages. I think I appreciated it so much because it reminded me of everyday life here. For everything thing you apply for, with seemingly perfect papers in hand, always leads to a chase for something missing. I really loved this book, and as my friend Anzie is proof, you don't need to be in Italy to love it...but it helps.

A nice quote about the joy of reading, for you dear readers always stuck in a book:

In other words, it's better for you to restrain your impatience and wait to open the book at home. Now. Yes, you are in your room, calm; you open the book to page one, no, to the last page, first you want to see how long it is. It's not too long, fortunately. Long novels written today are perhaps a contradiction: the dimension of time has been shattered, we cannot love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes off along in its own tragectory and immediately disappears.

Beatrice d'Este

2011-11-13T12:42:00.002-05:00

Duchessa di Milano, Ambrogio di Predis

A brief glimpse of what I found the other day at the Pinacoteca Ambrosiana. An amazing gallery and library started in 1618 by Cardinale Borromeo, it also houses a huge collection of Leonardo's works, including the Codex Atlanticus. On display in an ancient room filled with books you can't help but be impressed by Leonardo's brilliance. Maybe it's just me but I always sort of pass by Leonardo, 'Oh yes, Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, I know I know' but seeing all of his detailed astronomical sketches, his neat but illegible notes, made me want to know so much more about him. How many times, I wonder, have I missed an opportunity to learn about him? I'm determined to discover more about him, and also Cardinale Borromeo and his clan, the Visconti family, and the Sforzas. It's hard to walk down a street in Lombardy and not pass something owned, built or conquered by these three families. Even my header: The Isole Borromeo (above) are still owned by the Borromeo family!

Dove sei!?

2011-11-07T07:53:00.000-05:00

What's my excuse for not blogging? There are too many to count! But in order to not sound repetitive and dull, we move on. Not only is my new apartment warm, cozy, overlooking a courtyard of trees, but it has the internet which means regular blog posts will be the norm.

I wish I could say my life has been filled with days shopping Via Spiga, enjoying an aperitivo on the Navigli, then enjoying a dinner of prawns, Emma Recchi-style at Cracco Peck but it has all been much less glamorous. Just now, things have finally settled down and I seem to be able to breath. New job, new school, new responsibilities, endless paperwork and new apartment all equaled one big headache, but it's pretty much all taken care of now, and I can now enjoy myself.

Milan is one of those cities where you find something new and beautiful everyday. Unlike Rome, Venice or Florence where the beauty is all upfront and ready to see, you have to look for it in Milan. On a daily basis I find a new stunning courtyard to peak into, I hear about another museum or church I must visit, or pass by a new pasticcieria where a brioche filled with chocolate cream is waiting for me. It's a rainy day today, only the beginning of a rain-filled winter, but it adds to the Gothic feel of it. (Being one who terminally looses umbrellas, though, not so romantic) There are so many things I want to see, and not just in Milan. Scattered around the city are great little towns filled with hidden gems, and with my monthly All Lombardy Pass, I'm going to try and explore as many as possible. Won't you join me?

The rain has abated a bit, I'm going to run to the store to buy a drying rack for my clothes, and some tea and eggs!

Eccomi

2011-10-18T09:40:00.000-04:00

Maurguerite Burnat-Provins, Confiance

Ciao tutti! Vivo!

Sorry for the delay in posting, but alas! moving to another country is never easy. This time seems to be especially trying as I'm staying for a long time and getting all my paperwork in within a short time has been near impossible. You who have been here understand the glass windows, the evil government workers, the endless lines to nowhere, etc. etc. The positive side is I feel much more confident with my Italian, which helps me be a bit more assertive even able to crack a joke with the lady taking care of my Permesso di Soggiorno which went over well. I'm also forcing myself to be independant, refusing to beg my Italian friends for their assistence.

There is so much I want to share, but it will come with time but for a few hints we will first be discussing my Italian class, my landlord with a glass eye, Maurizio, my new job, where I've been living this month and soon to move: the Bat Cave and the Milanese. But all with time.

I've been able to get some great shots of some people and places and a few minutes ago when I tried to upload the photos from my camera, just realized I didn't back the cord that connects to the USB. Quelle Nightmare! Can I buy one in a store or do I have to get someone to send me mine from home?

TWA Flight 686

2011-09-26T13:57:00.001-04:00

By this time tomorrow, I'll be in flight (towards Washington DC at least) to my new home on the Continent! Just typing that out makes me feel a little lightheaded. I'm packing up my things at the moment, and not only am I the biggest procrastinator, hence the blog post, but I want to pack the most impractical things, ie: too many heavy books, my crystal champagne glasses, the imaginary Limoges, my Danish armchair, etc. etc. Who wants to pack socks?! In other exciting news the exchange rate for dollar has gone up, which means packing my forgotton underwear won't be as expensive on the Continent!

See you there!

A Happy Anniversary

2011-09-19T19:05:00.000-04:00

Sorry for not being around lately. Blog and I were so enraptured this weekend, spending our time together celebrating our third anniversary together in honeyed ecstasy, exchanging the leather (the traditional third anniversary gift) Gucci loafers and passport holders until...we realized...it was only our second anniversary.

We laughed nervously - made eye-contact - then quickly looked away.

I thought it was three years?

Oh well! We laughed and as we embraced both thought of something cotton we wanted (everything from Ovadia and Sons fall collection) that would be just as nice as the new leathergoods! Whew! That was a close one.

Image is mine of the Gothic streets of Belgium from my first blog post

Signs and such

2011-09-14T13:15:00.000-04:00

I have talked about Ben Pentreath's blog before and I'm going to have to do it again. He's just come back from a trip to Italy and has brought back with him gorgeous pictures of the countryside and especially scenes from Sicily. He has captured for our pleasure the gorgeous typography found on street and building signs scattered around the island. So many Art Deco samplings I'm on overload. See more here.

Sicily is really one of the places I wanted to see when I was in Italy, and was supposed to visit my friends summer place there in August (plans made prior to knowledge of visa expiration). When I return I want to experience these signs first hand, along with the food, the beaches, the pastures, the food, the crazy dialect and the food.

Visto per Studio

2011-09-08T10:12:00.000-04:00

The other day when I announced my move to Italy, I had a bit of apprehension. Was it too soon? What if I didn't get my visa? Did I just jinx myself? Well, lads and ladies of the court, yesterday after a second attempt, I got my visa! Last week when I went, the pseudo-Italian man at the Consulate flipped through my 500 pieces of required paperwork, wrote a lot of red writing, then looked at me gravely and said, "This is a 7 out of 10," and then proceeded to tell me that I needed two things changed a little bit. I guess he's the dramatic one at the office. Yesterday, a sweet lady at the counter licked her fingers, flipped through my papers in about 14 seconds and then said, "Your visa will be ready on Monday. NEXT!"

I feel like I've won an Oscar or something. I just want to tell everyone I pass on the street. It's a relief and a cause for celebration!

Leyendecker's Glimpse

2011-09-07T01:00:00.002-04:00

Leyendecker has done it again! He managed to look into the future and catch a glimpse of what I look like getting dressed in the morning. I don't know how he did/does it.

Sock garters are great...until it's 11 o'clock at night and you realized you've been wearing them for 16 hours. That's the hour where, sitting at the restaurant table, I cross my legs, gracefully take them off and throw them in my bag, all the while keeping my party numb to my under-table-actions. My calves whisper,

'Thank you!" as I exclaim, "Who wants another drink?" to muffle their gratitude.

Summer Salvation

2011-09-06T10:52:00.002-04:00

I'm usually sad to see summer go but with an photograph like the above, how can you not look forward to what's in store?

日本画タブロー

2011-09-05T09:57:00.000-04:00

by Maasaki Sasamoto

I don't know if I have ever wanted to jump into a painting, Mary Poppins and Bert-style, as much as I have with the specimen above. For more of Sasamoto's mind-bending work go here...

I Capture the Castle

2011-09-02T10:01:00.001-04:00

The Lost Castle by Keraoc

A Swedish September

2011-09-01T10:25:00.002-04:00

I can't believe September is upon us! Where did the summer go?

Oh well- we move on. Isn't this a perfect September room? Light, airy and white for summer, but with the hardwoods and wood stove, you can see how cozy it will be on those chilly September nights. Nights where you need the down comforter up to your neck and mornings where staying in bed for an extra two minutes are a necessity.

found at Old Chum

Breezin' Along with the Breeze

2011-08-29T11:12:00.001-04:00

Josephine Baker has a way of making any day better. Even if it's already one of those gorgeous blue end-of-summer days.

Irene the not so Terrible

2011-08-28T21:31:00.002-04:00

We did it! We lived through the Storm of the Century! Or the one that was supposed to be. Or the one that all of the news reporters had us in fear of our lives for the past week about. In all serious, I'm happy it wasn't bad, just a bit spiteful that I'm still sore from boarding up the windows of the restaurant Saturday and sweating bullets in front of my cohorts. One exciting thing about the coming storm was the eeriness before the storm. The said drinkable humidity climbing, the empty streets in a normally bustling seaside community, the fog swirling around shingled buildings and over black calm water, and walking down to the water with an ice cream cone watching a lone surfer barely through the fog. I had a strange drink the night before which may have induced my weary dreaminess but it was all very ethereal. As the wind whips outside the windows right now, I hope all of you are safe, and that you got some quality rest and free time during this little tempest.

The Art of the Translation

2011-08-22T10:26:00.000-04:00

Italo Svevo

As I finished reading Zeno's Conscience the other night, I couldn't help but think, how does one take a piece of literature and transform it into something of another language? All while keeping it's true flow and feeling? As someone who has a hard time reading a language I can speak fairly, the task seems overwhelming, but William Weaver was the translator for La Conscienza di Zeno, and he did a brilliant job. I actually had the Italian version next to my English and at times would cross over to see how he would do something. It takes a brilliant brain to accomplish the task he did. You already may be blessed with his translations. Do you have Umberto Eco, Italo Calvino or Alberto Moravia in your library? Take a look, most are translated by William Weaver.

I found a fascinating interview with him in the Paris Review. His friendship with Frank O'Hara, the experience of moving to Rome before all the Americans and living with a literary crowd there left me breathless and entralled. But his description of how he translates blew my mind. So much goes into it, and how he relates it to performance art is nothing less than brilliant.

INTERVIEWER

Might you say that your interest in performance is related to your work in translation? After all, translating is staging a written performance, an interpretation of a text.

WEAVER

At Bard College, when you give a course the head of the department or the division always says, Now, how can this be crosslisted? And they said, What about your translation workshop? And as a joke I said, Performing Arts. But you’re right. It is a performing art. In fact, when I’m translating sometimes I literally act out words. I was once alone in my study in the country, and I got to this word, sgomento, and I thought, Well, how do we say that in English? There is a word. I know the word exists, but I can’t think of it! And I started acting sgomento, sort of putting my hands in my hair and widening my eyes. Signor Bassi, the postman, who was also the bass drum player in the village band, came in with a special delivery letter and saw me with a weird expression on my face. And I looked up, and I thought, Oh, Signor Bassi’s aghast. And I thought, Sgomento—aghast! I quickly wrote it down, and I never bothered to explain to him what I was doing. This simply confirmed the local opinion that I was nuts.

If you get a chance take a look at the whole interview -HERE-

"There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh...

2011-08-19T10:21:00.000-04:00

...but they leave him a wad"

Won't you stay for tea? We have Tam Lin to learn by firelight.

images found at Belgian Pearls

A Lamentation

2011-08-15T10:07:00.000-04:00

One of the many brilliant illustrations by Liza Corbett.

Waxing Gibbous

2011-08-12T10:14:00.001-04:00

I've been feeling especially batty this week and not sure if it's because I've had this song stuck in my head since I woke up Monday morning. That or our moon phase which will change over the weekend and hopefully bring about some much needed sanity. Any one else feeling the same this week?

An Interview in the Garden

2011-08-10T10:21:00.001-04:00

Wouldn't you love to hear what Virginia Woolf and Lytton Strachey were discussing on that lovely bench in the garden? And who's that in the foreground listening in?

I don't know if we'll ever know... but if you'd like to know what Nick Campbell of Pile of Leaves and I discussed in his imaginary garden please read HERE

Image Source: National Portrait Gallery

At Bablake School, Coventry

2011-08-09T10:15:00.000-04:00

found here

Antonio Berardi Pre-Fall

2011-08-08T12:09:00.000-04:00

I realized I don't really talk about fashion much on here, despite some fashion history every once in a while, but in another life it was all I ever talked about, thought about or cared about. A lot has changed since then, but I still love it. Especially when I find a collection like this Pre-Fall Collection from Sicilian Londoner Antonio Berardi that captures everything I'm in love with.

It's just the right amount of Art Deco Glamour paired with the perfect dose of Futurism, which actually works perfectly with that time. I also love that so much in the collection one could actually wear.

I think Rob Marshall should keep this collection in mind when he finally finds the Nora for his Johnny Depp-Nick when he remakes 'The Thin Man.' Marion Cortillard is rumoured to fill the roll. Spot on, I'd say.

From style.com by way of this is glamorous

Some Sort of Epic Grandeur

2011-08-05T01:00:00.003-04:00

"More than kisses, letters mingle souls, for thus absent friends speak."

From the always amazing Fyodor Pavlov.

And inside the Great Hermitage

2011-08-04T14:45:00.002-04:00

After fawning over you on the gravel drive I'll invite you in for a drink. Tea? No cocktails! I like the way you think. Let me grab you a Tom Collins...have a look around the place if you'd like.

As you go around from room to room, you start to notice a pattern...

Every wall is filled with bookplates, paintings, sketches and personal treasures.

Umm...Why are you in my bedroom? Am I already regretting inviting you?

You see, I really hate the idea of a 'gallery wall' when it's planned and the specimens are from Pottery Barn. But when they are actual objects found and sourced from special memories, then placed on a wall as a reminder, I'm in love. My friend's velvet-clad, Hippie mom's house is like this, and although I nearly die from stimulus when I see it, I can't help but love what she's done. Does it make me crazy or just a collector? I'll say the latter, you say the former.

Future Hermitage

2011-08-01T13:49:00.000-04:00

Can't you see me waiting for you by the columns as you drive up in your Rolls Royce? Gosh, I love this place and can see myself holed up with my books and gin not letting a soul in other than the rare occasion, like today where I've invited everyone at once. I think a faux-Eastern Seaboard-Bette Davis accent will be necessary as well. Unfortunately this is already taken by Sybaritic, where I found this lovely Greek Revival in Alabama, but something just like it will suit me fine. As long as there is uncontrollable ivy nearby, 12 bedrooms, a fully-stocked bar and library and fireplaces in every room.

Clangour of the Gong

2011-07-28T22:44:00.002-04:00

But she stopped. There was a smell of burning. Could they have burned the Boeuf en Daube overboil? she wondered, pray heaven not! when the great clangour of the gong announced solemnly, authoritatively, that all those scattered about, in attics, in bedrooms, on little perches of their own, reading, writing, putting the last smooth to their hair, or fastening dresses, must leave all that, and the little odds and end on their washing-tables and dressing-tables, and the novels on the bed-tables, and the diaries which were so private, and assemble in the dining-room for dinner.

-Virginia Woolf

To the Lighthouse

A more fleshly bit in To the Lighthouse, but when I was reading it last night, was completely struck by the beauty of it and kept reading it over and over. Maybe I am just a fleshly person, but it's sometimes the simple things like getting ready or being in the privacy of your own room that I find the most beautiful.

Image: New York Public Library

Beyond the Sea

2011-07-27T01:00:00.003-04:00

Beyond the Sea by Paul X. Johnson

I think I found a new obsession. Just take a look at Mr. Johnson's work and try not to become obsessed. Impossible!

2011-07-26T01:00:00.001-04:00

In continuation with yesterday's post...

Meet me in the stacks

2011-07-25T01:00:00.008-04:00

Don't you love this picture of Carol Lombard and Clark Gable? They seem so very much in love. I went through a huge Carol Lombard phase this winter (blame Instant Netflix) and was so interested to find out about their relationship. They were indeed very much in love, but only married for two years when she died in a plane crash. Gable was inconsolable and devastated -according to wikipedia- and enlisted in the army, dedicating himself to a suggestion she had made before her death.

I think the fact that the two are flirting in a library makes it even more perfect.

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson

2011-07-23T15:31:00.001-04:00

A couple weeks back I was perusing the New York Review Books- which seem to be in joyous amounts at Symposium Books in Providence- for Wish Her Safe at Home by Stephen Benatar, a review I read at Stuck in a Book. Regrettably it wasn't there, but I did find another on Simon's list, The Summer Book by Tove Jansson. I'll give it a go, I thought, I dare say it is summer.

Now, I'll be honest, it took me about 75 pages to get into it, and at 170-odd pages that's almost halfway through, but now that I'm finished, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and actually fancy a reread. A series of short stories (I hate the word vignette, although it's probably a more accurate word - maybe it's just how so many people seem to use it wrongly) about a grandmother and her granddaughter living on a island for the summer off of Finland. All of the stories have an almost ethereal feel to them, like foggy memories put into writing, which I think is what I found divergent to what I have been reading lately. It took me a while to get into it, but once I did I didn't want loose that distant feel. She has a bit of a Virginia Woolf-style to the way she writes, in fact, when I was reading it I kept on thinking about Mrs. Dalloway. Did anyone else find this or am I just imagining things?

With it, brought back vivid memories of my childhood growing up on the coastline in Rhode Island. Playing in the woods until our legs were covered in scratches. Digging for clams out on a sandbar during low tide. Swimming off of docks that weren't ours, then hiding from the owners behind rocks, so we wouldn't get in trouble. Then ending the night in absolute exhaustion, passing out, face in pillow. Sophia and her grandmother's experiences were the same and Tove Jansson was telling us about her own childhood through them. Our Finnish family friend (alliteration much?) often tells us how similar the New England coastline can be to that of Scandinavia, which I think is why I related so much to the descriptions of landscapes and their mindset. I wonder if it is something about having to survive such brutal winters desperately waiting for a too short summer that makes us similar?

When a rich businessman builds a house on a nearby island, I could feel for them, watching their precious views being disrupted by the big, modern and ugly:

A business built a house on Blustergull Rock. At first, no one mentioned it. They had developed a habit, over the years, of not talking about painful things, in order to make them less painful. But they were very much aware of the house.

People who live on islands are always letting their eyes glide along the horizon. They see the lines and curves of the familiar skerries, and the channel markers that have always stood in the same spots, and they are strengthened in their calm awareness that the view is clear and everything is in its place. Now the view was no longer clear. It was broken by a big square house, a new and threatening landmark, a deep notch in the aspect of a horizon that had been their own for a very long time...

I was really moved by The Summer Book, not only for what I related to but also the emotional connection between the two leading ladies. With gorgeous imagery, Jansson throws us back into her past and most importantly helps us to remember our own! Gracious, I loved it.

Side note: Images are mine taken of a lovely tidal pool I've gone to forever. It's one of the few places undiscovered (mostly) by tourists and where one can spend the day in the crystal clear water without a soul around you. It fills up so much you have to dive down to touch the bottom - then empties until it's only ankle deep...something that has never ceased to amaze me. I won't tell you here where it is, but if you come for a visit, it will be first on my grand tour.

Io Non Ho Paura

2011-07-19T10:18:00.000-04:00

This past weekend I watched the Italian film by director Gabriele Salvatores, Io Non Ho Paura or I'm not Scared. I actually started reading the book by Niccolo Ammaniti when I was in Italy, but left it in my apartment in the confusion of moving. It's won endless awards and been translated in many languages for good reason. Ammaniti wrote the screenplay which I think made this book transition into film perfect. It will fill you with suspense and also melt your heart, which is why I won't tell you any of the plot line...I'll leave it for you to find out. But with all that and the cinematography, scenery, amazing acting and soundtrack, I think this is one of my new favorite Italian films, right next to Nights of Cabiria.

The Grist 1936, Continued

2011-07-18T01:00:00.007-04:00

Now back to scheduled programming...last we met we were discussing the lives of Ernestine and F. Justin.*

Let us now take a look at one of the University's many sororities. Although there was no instant messaging, Facebook and texting, lasting friendships were easier to keep and maintain; and with Delta Zeta we have no exception. Especially in Miss James and Miss Fitzpatrick's (center row, two farthest to the left) case. Nadine James and Margaret Fitzpatrick both grew up in tenement houses in Providence and Boston. Each with several siblings under them, the wish to move away was inevitable. They both decided to go to University in the country -close and yet far enough from home- even though a career wasn't what they had in mind. They became fast friends and were married around the same time, naturally being each other's maid-of-honor. When the time came to buy a house, Nadine's husband found a nice place in Wakefield. Nadine noticed a 'for sale' sign next door and quickly told Margaret. Although it was above their budget Margaret and her husband put a down payment on the large Victorian on Elm Street. Both girls had girls of their own, who shared their mothers friendship. When Nadine's husband died, Margaret and her husband invited Nadine over for dinner every night, never without walking her home.

I love the classy gals over at the Portia Club.

"The Portia Club sponsered women's debating activities very successfully during the year. The extensive schedule included frequent trips and home debates."

Look at those fur coats and that style. Tweed was definitely the must have, non? This was the Great Depression, mind you. I have a feeling that these ten girls went on to be great successes in life, as what happens with most people who belong to a Debate Team.

Lest we forget the token 'Chariots of Fire' track team shot. The yearbook was full of them, and it should be noted that Childs was viewed as a prospect for the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. Unfortunately he lost his place to local Narragansett Indian, Tarzan Brown.

*All material has been fictionalized.

A day filled with leisure

2011-07-16T13:20:00.001-04:00

I haven't forgotten about sharing some more of the yearbook, I just feel I must edit the photographs a bit more so they look appealing and presentable. In fact, I'm happy that so many have responded favorably and share their views on imagining histories for the unknown! As I say so often, it's always exciting finding kindred spirits!

As for this photograph...I can't actually remember where I found it. Was it Retronaut? I do remember it's a shot of (I believe) Portabello Rd, London in the late 60's. Lately I've been wishing I could move to London. It's just another to add to my list I suppose...but for the time being I can imagine living there, spending my weekend with my dalmation -how fitting!- shopping for perishables, knick knacks and rare tea varietals.

The Grist 1936

2011-07-13T11:28:00.002-04:00

Not to long ago I was perusing my favorite free bookshop, the neighborhood dump, and among all the Mary Higgins Clark and John Grisham I stumbled upon a pile of Depression-era yearbooks from Rhode Island State College. That's what is so great about the dump: My fellow dump divers usually lean towards the less interesting and leave me with a great selection of books...like a leather-bound 1896 version of Tennyson's poems, or a first edition 'The Dark Island' by Vita Sackville-West.

Anywho...back to the yearbook. Inside lay hundreds of specimens of life of the young buck or doe graduating in the class of 1936. What happened to them afterwards? Are they still alive? I can't help but make up stories about all of them!

Here we have Ernestine Elizabeth Greene. Isn't she striking? I feel like done up in a more Pre-Code attire and a permanent wave, she could be the next Norma Shearer. But alas! she studied Science and my guess is she was married before graduation and the only time she used her Science education was when her five kids were working on their homework. I actually hope this didn't happen.

Many of the women majored in Home Economics, which is such a change from today!

Next up: F. Justin McCarthy. Majoring in Physical Education. He seems the quiet-type doesn't he? He's another one with such an interesting look (and wardrobe). What did he go on to do with his life? Did he go back home to Maine and become a gym teacher? (Down East Dilettante: was he your gym teacher?) Any guesses?

I'll leave you with that today, but tomorrow (I hope this isn't a bore for you) we'll discuss the scandalous lives of Sororities, Varsity Sports and secretive Art Professors. All products of my imagination!

Phaedra is my name

2011-07-12T09:49:00.000-04:00

Erwin Blumenfeld, 1944

Vol de Nuit

2011-07-11T01:00:00.007-04:00

This illustration, by Belgian François Schuiten, left me all agog yesterday when I stumbled upon it. I love how it teeters betweens everyones dream of flying and the nightmare of falling endlessly. Although Schuiten is of our time, his work is so Art Deco, especially with the feel of how they imagined the future. I'm absolutely in love and can't wait to find out more about him.

Blissful Week-end

2011-07-08T18:06:00.001-04:00

Have a blissful week-end, dear ones. I hope it looks something like this...I know mine will (well at least my Sunday).

I've had this saved for years, pity I haven't shared it sooner.

Ta!

In Storage for the Villa

2011-07-07T23:00:00.000-04:00

These gorgeous light fixtures are regrettably sold already at Heir Antiques, but they'd work right in with my Syrie Maugham-inspired living room. Gracious, I'd take anything from Heir Antiques. How they find the most amazing things in the Universe is beyond my knowledge, but I can remember a freezing night walking past their store in Providence, and just gazing in with my nose on the window, practically having to de-ice myself off. If anyone has any extra wampum around, please send hither! It's a matter of life and death.

The Uncommon Reader

2011-07-06T12:45:00.000-04:00

Most of you have read 'The Uncommon Reader' by Alan Bennett years ago, but not I. Last weekend Nick at Pile of Leaves recommended it to me and being an efficient book-recommendation-reader, went out and got it and read it on the beach Monday. A lovely sunburn can prove how much I loved it, and my poor sister now feels completely neglected as I ignored her entirely the whole day. If you haven't read it yet, please do, it will awaken (or reawaken) your love of reading to a nearly youthful extent!

I cannot say enough about how much loved this book! Thank you Nick!!

Photo: The Queen's College, Oxford by Martin Beek

Illyrian Spring

2011-07-05T10:25:00.002-04:00

The story of Lady Grace Kilmichael and Nicholas Humphies meeting and travelling down and around the Dalmation coast (modern day Croatia) has been gushed profusely about by Book Snob...and well deservedly. Ann Bridge wrote such beautiful and discriptive prose in 'Illyrian Spring' I was near dropping everything to board a luxury liner in Venice en route to Dalmatia.

Which is how Lady Kilmichael and Nicholas met. Lady Kilmichael, later in life (late 30's?...not that late!) found her self with a successful career as an artist, which as she believed got under the skin of her husband. To escape the disapproval of what she feels is everyone in her family, she boards a train to Venice to take a trip by liner to Ragusa (Italian for Dubrovnik). As I read of the apprehension and excitement of her trip, my heart honestly fluttered with excitement...as this was in one of the first 10 pages, I think Ms. Bridge has conquered a feat of emotions! While in Venice, Grace and Nicholas meet while sketching and he finds it his duty to help her while she struggles on a complex pattern. Little does he know she is the Great Grace Stanway. They separate later without sharing names, not knowing they will meet again.

But meet again they do! On board the liner to Dubrovnik, no less. There we find out that Nicholas is a student of architecture, but desperately would like to be a painter. Grace, without revealing her fame, says she will take him under her wing in hopes that he can independantly support himself as a young artist. The rest I leave to you, dear readers. Their journey on the Adriatic coastline is one that should not be missed.

This book is a rare beauty, and by rare I mean their was one in the entire state library system, it did't even have a call number and was in storage. Rachel continues to bring it into our awareness, and I've quickly joined her cause. Let's rally together and get it republished!

I'll leave you with one example of Ann Bridge's descriptive prose -and proof she is just as much an artist as Grace- where after leaving Ragusa, Grace finds a small town, with a small house in which she asks to stay and paint...

The last house stood right on the fondamento, withing a few feet of the water. A dark-haired woman, whom they took to be the Signora Orlando, responded to their knock, and, readily promising coffee, led them round to a garden at the side of the house, where little tables stood on the raked gravel, under trellises of roses and vines supported by small stone pillars. Oleanders and pomegranates stood in groups about the garden; the flower beds were fragrant with stocks and brilliant with snap dragons; further away from the house, grass paths ran between pergolas of ramblers; a high hedge enclosed the whole. Somewhere close by nightingales were singing; loud, sweet, and fervent as the sunshine, their song filled the air like a clear light made audible.

And, drinking her coffee, again Grace thought - what a divine place to stay! If the Signora had a room or two, and would agree, what could be more perfect?

Ps...how great are all these 1920's and 30's posters for Croatia? I feel like Grace would have been looking at them as she booked her passage!

Black Bottom

2011-06-21T01:00:00.003-04:00

I'd like life to look like this, even for just a weekend. A reuniting with the Van Spooners, Saccomanochus, Saint Katherine and little orphan Lulu. It's not easy everyday, looking out at the ocean, Block Island, Long Island and Fishers Island, to not get envious of those enjoying my homeland. Ah well, I at least can call it my home.

Black Bottom - Johnny Hamp & his Kentucky Serenaders

Hibernian Heritage

2011-06-20T03:13:00.001-04:00

After unearthing this gem of a photograph, I realized I never really talk about the Hibernian side of my family. It's always the Italians (pronounced as my mother's parents would have said: Aye-talians). Above is a photograph of my grandmother Mary and her two sisters Helen and Margaret. The scrapper in the middle is my grandmother, and who I've always been told I take after the most. She had a somewhat dark sense of humor, an elegant way of swearing and a love for Danish Modern, a table of hers on which I'm writing currently. I'm guessing this is 1924, as she was born on 1914 and looks about 10?

She played the violin, but only in secret. One time my grandfather came home from work early and heard beautiful music coming from the living room. That was the one time he ever saw her play.

Hot Countries

2011-06-15T01:00:00.001-04:00

Last week, I eagerly left work in anticipation of the book sale happening at my favorite library. (We can see how thrilling my life is as of late) Among the rubble of Danielle Steele, Mary Higgens Clark, &c I fished out a few gems. Some Elizabeth Bowen, which I've recently read about at Book Snob and more Willie Maugham (yes, we're at that level).

The real diamond in the rough, though, was 'Hot Countries' by Alec Waugh. Alec Waugh, as in Evelyn's older brother.

'Hot Countries,' published in 1930, is a travel book of his experiences visiting equatorial islands and places in the 1920's -this is where I die. I've always had a fascination with Alec, often overshadowed by his younger brother, but a writer of a great many books.

And it is filled with stunning woodcuts by Lynd Ward.

Even more astonishing is the fact that I read about 'Hot Countries' not even a four days before the sale on Admiral Cod's blog. How could my interest not be picqued by his quote from the book? Isn't it so odd when coincidental things like that happen? Read exerpt HERE

As you can imagine, I am as pleased as pie and cannot wait to read this whilst conjuring up visions of myself on a steamer from Siam to Ceylon, panama hat resting gently on my leather boots, drinking my gin martini, writing letters back home to my brother Evelyn...I hear his book 'Vile Bodies' is about to be published. Will it be a success?

'Jersey Shore' Gone Wilde

2011-06-14T01:00:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure if you've seen these yet, but I felt an immediate need to share. The object of embarassment for America and the thorn in our side: 'The Jersey Shore,' -rehashed in the style of Oscar Wilde.

The result is brilliant.

I don't know how many times while I was abroad I was asked, 'Are all Americans like the cast of the Jersey Shore?' I wish I could say no with a little less hesitation...

The Razor's Edge

2011-06-13T01:00:00.001-04:00

Years before Jack Kerouac wrote 'On the Road' or any of the other Beats explored Eastern philosophy, W. Somerset Maugham wrote 'The Razor's Edge,' a complex novel about Larry, a survivor of The Great War searching for some sort of enlightenment in his life. So complex, in fact, that I feared I wouldn't be able to do it justice. I know I won't, but I'll do my best. And to kill two birds with one stone, a comparison to it's critically acclaimed film will be made.

The novel spans twenty years, from post-Great War to the writer's completion in the 1940's. Maugham casts himself as the narrator, which I found marvelously clever. He tells us about Larry, a boy changed after a near death experience in the War. He returns to Isabel, his former love interest, a vain society girl and decides he'd rather travel the world and 'loaf.' Isabel's Uncle Elliot -an American-born, Parisian social climber- naturally disapproves of it all. She then marries Gray, a stockbroker making it big on the 1920's American economic boom. Then finally he tells us the tragic tale of Sophie, an old friend of Isabel, Gray and Larry.

Because of the quantity of characters I shall only go into the few that stuck with me (and stuck with me they did...I read the book when I first got to Italy, months ago). The story is mostly based around Larry; who he effects and the consequences he causes. He decides he wants to leave regular life in Chicago and travel the world. First the Left Bank and the rest of Europe, then on to the Himalayas. No one knows where he is, but everyone still thinks of him. While I was reading it, I kept thinking of my friend John White. He's always known as John White. Is he living above the cinema in Brooklyn? Is he in Upstate New York? Wait, isn't he homelessly living in Paris? No, I thought he was working at Purple Magazine? Larry caused the same flutter. Especially when he miraculously would rise from the ether. Which is why I really hated Tyrone Power as Larry. He was too "Gee-Golly"/post-war/optimistic American. "Garsh, I just can't wait to see the sights o' the world!" his performance said. They needed someone a bit more pensive, melancholy and gritty. Thankfully he was the only one poorly cast.

Onto Uncle Elliot. Vain, shallow, desperate for the approval of those who matter and a terrible snob. I absolutely loved him. He was born in the Midwest, but managed to fool (I think) everyone into believing he was someone more than he was. Later in life he even managed receiving a title from a distant ancestor. Clifton Webb portrayed him p.e.r.f.e.c.t.l.y. Maybe because he was so much like Elliot himself. Born in Indiana, gradually making his way up through Vaudeville, Broadway and onto Hollywood stardom, his climb up the ladder of success was parallel to Elliot's.

Sophie, helplessly in love with her husband and child. They were the perfect family until a tragic accident kills both husband and child. Sophie is left helpless and her perfect life twists into a dangerous one of addiction and sorrow. Larry comes in here, but for those of you who haven't read 'A Razor's Edge' I won't go on, for your sake and mine, lest I tear up. But Anne Baxter surprised me with her Sophie. I'm moved often with old film, but never do I find myself sobbing. Her acting was unbelievable, and such a turn from what I've seen her in before.
I hope I did 'A Razor's Edge' justice. It's my second Maugham, but I loved it so much more then 'Of Human Bondage.' I recently found 'A Moon and Sixpence' which I'll delve into shortly. I think I've found yet another author for me to adore. I think you will too.

Note on image above: I recently found out about Ida Kar by recommendation of A Pile of Leaves. I felt her portraits of artists and bohemians of the forties and fifties tied in beautifully with the characters Larry would have bonded with. Take a look! Thank you, Nick!

"You just know she wears them"

2011-06-08T01:00:00.001-04:00

Illustration by Marjory C. Woodbury

found at NYPL

The Diary of a Provincial Lady

2011-06-07T01:00:00.003-04:00

I have been reading on book blogs, for what feels like years, rave reviews for E.M. Delafield's 'The Diary of a Provincial Lady.' Maybe it was the title or the fact that I always confuse the author with someone else (I am my mother's son), but I never got around to reading it. Or had an honest interest. While perusing the newly restored library -a lot can happen in three months to an olde haunt, not sure if I'm positive about it- I stumbled across a lovely edition. 'Oh, here it is!' I unfortunately exclaimed out loud. Inside were rave reviews: 'You will laugh out loud.' 'Unique.' 'Priceless.' I was convinced.

I opened it a few days later and laughed my way to it's finish. We don't know her name, but we know her inner thoughts and feelings of inadequacy. We know her children that she loves dearly and her husband, whom I personally hope she divorces. We know her true friends and her friends who she feels she must impress. She was so relatable... at least to me. Her life was filled with havoc and innocent mistakes, often with unfortunate results. I don't want to make it sound slapstick, but the reality of her life and her thoughts on it were hysterical and brilliant.

There were so many highlights but my favorite was when her new neighbor, literary Miss Pankerton pops in (we know how we all despise pop-ins) with her Bloomsbury friend, Jahsper, for a visit:

...Jahsper, still dabbling at injured eye, contributes austere statement to the effect that only the Russians really understand Beauty in Nomenclature. Am again horrified at hearing myself interject "Ivan Ivanovitch" in entirely detached and irrelevant manner, and really begin to wonder if mental weakness is overtaking me. Moreover, am certain that I have given Miss P. direct lean in the direction of Dostoeffsky, about whom I do not wish to hear, and am altogether unable to converse.

Entire situation is, however, revolutionised by totally unexpeceted entrance of Robin -staggering beneath my fur coat and last summer's red crinoline straw hat -Henry, draped in blue kimono, several scarves belonging to Mademoiselle, old pair of fur gloves, with scarlet school-cap inappropriately crowning all -and Vicky wearing nothing whatever but small pair of green silk knickerbockers and large and unfamiliar black felt hat put on at rakish angle.

If I ever have kids, I know this will happen to me...it most assuredly happened to my mother.

Was there a plot? I'm not sure. But does one's diary have a plot? What we have here is a glimpse of a woman's life in the interwar, with no silver linings or smoke and mirrors.

I first read about this at Stuck in a Book, and he tells me there are three more to look forward to, which I can't tell you how pleased I am to hear. If you know how to laugh at yourself and not take yourself too seriously, this book will appeal to you. For the rest of you, reading it will probably give you 'an attack.'

Image above: Love's Greatest Mistake, James Flagg.

Hanham Court

2011-06-06T10:17:00.000-04:00

Do meet us down in the garden. The table is set and we have much to discuss!

(from Miss Wallflower)

Rex Whistler by Howard Coster

2011-06-02T23:14:00.000-04:00

Howard Coster, 1936

I have reason for rejoice! I just found this photograph taken by Howard Coster of my dear friend, Rex Whistler. Don't you hate when you are looking for something? Something you know you've seen? Then you start to wonder if you were dreaming you'd ever seen it? It happens to me all the time. But I have proof with this photograph that I'm not always imagining things! Rex Whistler was a wonderful illustrator (and Bright Young Person) who illustrated most of Beverley Nichols books. Poor thing was killed rather early in the War. Behold! my favorite of his covers:

Too perfect.

The Fountain of Saturn

2011-05-23T19:58:00.000-04:00

The Fountain of Saturn, 1912

Adolf de Meyer

Upstairs, Downstairs

2011-05-22T22:27:00.000-04:00

Months ago, while I was probably being yelled at by an Italian bus driver, you were all cozying up watch 'Upstairs, Downstairs.' I, unfortunately, have just seen it and all I can think about are the amazing interiors. I nearly fern greened myself when I saw that gorgeous fern green sitting room. And the tile floor in the hall? I needn't say more. I'm sure this is old news to all of you, but I really hope they continue, even if it's just to see what else production designer Eve Stewart concocts.

The Betrothed

2011-05-17T17:03:00.000-04:00

Whilst in Italia, the handful of you will remember that I was stranded without Internet access, spare the half hour here and there I'd spend next to my immigrant peeps at the Bengali Internet Cafe. Factoring in this and the fact that I spent what seemed to be three hours everyday on a bus or train gave me a great time to spend reading. And reading I did! I burned through the books I packed at record speed. Denton Welch, the Virginia Woolf's (Woolves?) I wanted to read, 'The Razor's Edge,' two Evelyn Waugh, etc, etc.

As I was living in Italy, I decided I wanted to read some Italian writers. Alessandro Manzoni's "I Promessi Sposi" (or "The Betrothed") is the book that everyone has to read as a teenager, and it's set on Como, a short drive from my house. Big mistake. There's a reason every Italian hates it. It goes on and on, and then you think your getting somewhere and then another character is introduced then his ancestry is described and on and on and on and on and on.

At page 300, I realized I didn't care if the 'betrothed' lived or died or if they even ended up together, but I definitely needed to put it down. Ever since I have been in a reading funk, and need something witty and mean (I wish Nancy Mitford was still alive) to nurse me back to life. I'm reading some Beverley Nichols, which seems to help, but if any of you have something ground-breaking, I'm all ears and hearing aids.

Blogger Twilight Zone

2011-05-16T10:06:00.001-04:00

Sometime last Thursday, the Blogger world stopped, disappeared and took everything with it. This includes my previous updated blog post (the house is worth ten MILLION not 900K) and funny comments, namely the ones from Down East Dilettante. Seems everyone has a story similar to that, but we all must carry on during this emotionally trying, treacherous battle we call blogging...chin up all!

'Cedar Point'

2011-05-11T16:43:00.000-04:00

Do you remember before I left for Italy, I showed you one of my many dream homes? (If you need a refresher click HERE) Located on Mackeral Cove in Jamestown, I took a spin by this afternoon and had an illegal peak at it.

Will you believe it's for sale!? I can't stand it! And for a $940,000 asking price...which in reality is a not that bad, keeping in mind the view and property.

Not only that, it's seclusion, privacy and garden can't be beat. Perfect for a life spent practicing dance routines in head-to-toe red that will never happen. Oh and the Cedar Shaker shingle roof! I'm flat-lining.

These are two pictures from the listing. You'd think if you were selling a house like this, you could spend an extra couple dollars and get a better camera? The house looks no where near as stunning as it really is in reality.

And let's not forget the garden, sweeping down the side of the house, surrounded by forests, covered with blooms, arbors with wisteria and plentiful vines with grapes.

So, if anyone has an extra million dollars they would like give to the Hibernian Homme Trust, I'm gladly accepting donations at the moment. Please!

The last time I did this the property sold in about 4 days. Let's see if it happens again.

Grey Gardens Strikes Back

2011-05-09T18:08:00.000-04:00

Summer was in full bloom in Italy, but here, the buds are just bursting. A few more hot days will hopefully get us back to scheduling. We hope, lest I have a nervous weather breakdown.

On the subject of nervous breakdown, as I've come home I seem to be returning into the 'Grey Gardens' state I've lived in for the past 24 years. I'm not sure if this is a good thing (it is) but the whole time away I didn't really think about crazy old eccentrics (at least as much as normal) and now they are flooding back. Maybe this is why I had such a hard time blogging?

That's all for today, but it's nice to be back, and I forgot to tell you, 'You look absolutely terrific, honestly!'

A shocking turn of events...

2011-05-05T13:03:00.002-04:00

I know it's been lightyears since I've written, but I beg your forgiveness.

Two weeks ago exactly I woke up to a sunny day and a free morning. I had an appointment at one but would spend the morning working out, cleaning and going to the market to buy some verdure. After my run (side note: two months into the trip I noticed I had two panzeroti growing on my hips and a timballo growing on my mid-section, so I made a dramatic change in eating habits and exercise) I felt refreshed and that life couldn't get any better. I was planning a trip to Dubai to visit a friend on another friends discount airline ticket. It would allow me to leave the EU and renew my tourist visa for another three months.

or...

so...

I...

thought!

Sbagliato! As of April 2010, the EU changed their law for non EU visitors. With a tourist visa, one can only stay in the country for three months within a six month time period. Was this true I wondered? Everyone said no. That night at dinner with friends, all were optimistic. Even I thought, maybe I can get someone in two weeks to sponser my work visa.

Friday morning was even worse. I visited the questura, or police station, in Varese (if any of you know the questura, you know it's the worse place on the planet) and they assured me even if I was hired, I couldn't return for another three months. The only other option is a student visa. But still only after being in the US for three months. A call to a lawyer, same news.

DEVASTATION and tears on the street

But instead of driving off a cliff on the way home which was my original intention, I decided to look on the bright side of things. Since the shocking news, I have been like mad emailing the Consulate in Boston, enrolling in a language school in Milano, and giving my CV to every English school in the province, thankfully securing work for when I return in September and looking for summer work back home. I got on the plane on Tuesday morning and was still talking to my future employers.

That in a nutshell have been my past two weeks. Sorry for the 'dear diary' entry, I promise to return to regular programming here on.

(Image above: About a month ago the wisteria were in full bloom along the side of the Pinacoteca di Brera)

Mondovì

2011-04-14T10:34:00.000-04:00

Does anyone ever tell you a place isn't that great? Don't bother going...it's depressing. Why am I getting up early to go accompany my friend to Mondovì, I asked myself Sunday morning?

This is why.

It's funny how when someone tells you something that you haven't seen isn't special, you believe them. This is why you shouldn't.

Letters from Donna

2011-03-30T10:24:00.000-04:00

One funny thing about being abroad is reading my mom's letters and e-mails. We've never really had to write one another before, but let me tell you, she leaves me in tears. She could be a co-writer for HH.

For example:

'Hi Dan

I heard you talking with dad this am. I was still in bed, & I decided to give dad a chance to talk with you. It makes him feel special...'

Imagine David Sedaris' parents and you have my parents.

Knowing that it takes her 20 minutes to type an email makes it ever more special.

Photograph taken in the wine cellar of Villa della Porta Bozzolo

Villa della Porta Bozzolo

2011-03-29T09:03:00.001-04:00

Like the Landmark or National Trust in England, Italy has FAI, which restores grand villas throughout Italy and opens them to the public. Sunday was the day where they were all open for free, so we visited Villa della Porta Bozzolo near Varese. The weather was a bit overcast but it made for rather Gothic looking photographs.

In the 17th century the land was owned by an average farming family until the landlord married a wealthy Milanese woman and he built the villa and grounds up to what they are today. If you want names, mi dispiace. You should be impressed I got that much, the tour was given by teenage Italian volunteers.

On the side of that pathway climbing the hill is a the largest lawn of violets in Italy. I think I'll make a pilgrimage in a few weeks when they are in bloom. I hear it's breathtaking...

The ceiling in my apartment is wooden like this. I wonder if my landlady will let me attempt painting it like this?

The house that is in 'Io Sono Amore' is part of the FAI and a friend of a friend of a friend is a tourguide there! So expect and update soon, spero.

Verdena

2011-03-25T08:33:00.000-04:00

Recently found among the sea of bad Italian versions of Kelly Clarkson and Lady Gaga, this band refreshingly reminds me that no matter where you are, you can find a good thing.

Lago Maggiore

2011-03-15T10:15:00.000-04:00

Last Thursday I was walking through the train station in Busto Arsizio when I heard someone talking on there cellphone with a distinct British accent: "Yes, darling, a sandwich will do. I'll be home in 25 minutes."

I stopped in my tracks, one doesn't hear native tongue English in Busto often, so immediately I went up to her, and she was as happy to speak to me as I was to speak to her. She told me she lived on Lake Maggiore and how wonderful it is. After she told me how simple it is to get to my mind started dreaming.

The next morning I had an appointment for a few hours in the morning and the rest of the day free. The first free day in two weeks! I wandered into Gallarate station and in 10 minutes the train was leaving for Domodossola in Piedmonte, the same train that stops by Stressa on Lago Maggiore.

In 10 minutes time I was on that train, heading for a day exploring a city and a lake more beautiful than words can described. Both Dickens and Byron were fans of the snow capped mountains that cascade into the lake. The lake has several islands, the Isole Borromee, with villa dating back to the 16th century, when the Borromeo and Visconti family ruled over Lombardia.

As the sun was starting to set behind the mountains, I had a gelato (of course) by the lake. I decided I would return in May when everything was in full bloom then wandered onto the train heading back towards Milano. These whimsical days are always so special, and even more so for their spontaneity. If any of you decide to visit, Lago Maggiore will be on the list to visit.

A sign of Spring

2011-03-09T06:00:00.001-05:00

Princi

2011-03-08T06:00:00.002-05:00

Despite the previous post, I've become the ultimate fat kid here. Not to sound all Eat Pray Love, but I can't stop eating! This is my favorite bakery on via Speronari. Young and old, the fashionistas and the ugos all flock here to stuff their face. You have to fight to get served but it's so worth it!

A Room with a View

2011-03-06T06:00:00.000-05:00

Remember the snow-capped mountains I spoke of? Well, here they are! A morning shot and one at sunset. Due to the fog, bad weather, smog, etc., I've only seen these lovely peaks three days I've been here. This morning I saw a faint whiff of white, but not enough! I'm going to try and do something about that tower there too.

Views of Fashion Week

2011-03-04T08:22:00.000-05:00

Alas, I'm STILL stuck at the Pakistani Internet Cafe, but I've loaded my pictures onto an external hardrive and will schedule as many posts as I can in 32 minutes and 41 seconds.

Fashion Week was a scream. Although I looked like a homeless person, per ushe, I still got to chuckle at some of the patrons rediculousness.

The above photo is my favorite and they just wandered five feet in front of me waiting for me to take their picture.

She's from Bazaar, and was actually being photographed by someone else. I really thought her ensemble was super chic, though. Nice to see she wasnt in 12 inch heels like everyone else.

The Sartorialist and Garance!! It was neat seeing them work together. She looked at me, I saw with her lips say, 'What about him?' He looks at me, 'I don't like his hat,' he lips. OUCH! Thankfully a few others like my shawl sweater and Patrik Ervell shirt and took photos. If you find any let me know!

HMM?

Anna Dello Rosso, Editor of Vogue Japan. She really worked the crowd. It was amazing seeing everyone screaming her name like she was a Beatle or something. Literally and hour before this I passed her on the street dressed simply blowing her nose really loud. No joke!

The best part was the old lady passerby who said out loud, 'Che scemo.'

'Che scemo' means 'What a retard.'

How does one use a bidet?

2011-02-18T05:23:00.000-05:00

Ciao Tutti!

I live! I hope you didn't mind the scheduled posts last week, I'm glad i put them up as i STILL have no internet. The little village I live in north of Milano, Cairate, is indeed very quaint but along with that comes no internet service. I bought a Internet Key to use for my laptop but the key and the computer dont seem to understand each other. So here I sit in my friendly neighborhood Pakistani Internet Zone, unable to upload any of the million pictures I've ever taken. Like the one I took this morning. It's been raining straight for the past five days, and before that it was thick sunny smog, but when I opened my shutters (yes I do it dramatically every morning) this sunny morning, there on the horizon were snow-capped mountains!! Why didn't anyone tell me we were that close?!

You know how back home everyone tells you, EVERYONE speaks English in Italy? Liars. All of em. Immediately upon arriving I've been thrown into so many situations where I'm forced to use what little I remember. Thankfully I can understand almost everything that they say to me know, but just have a hard time getting the words out. I hear this is normal.

(side note: do you realize how hard it is to type on this foreign computer?)

My apartment is in a little courtyard off of a tiny street. My landlady Luigia lives next door. This morning she came in to measure curtains because the neighbors complained about me walking around in my underwear. She doesn't speak English at all, so getting that information across was...hysterical. In Cairate the first days as I walked around, everyone would stare at me like I was the enemy. Now that they have seen me at the Tabaccheria, post office and on the bus they seem to have warmed up a bit. I even get a 'Ciao' from the weirdo with an eye patch that walks around all the time.

Hopefully my internet situation will work out soon..I'm going to look up wi-fi spots right now so I can use my own laptop and upload my pictures.

With love,

D-H

Tommy Tom

2011-02-11T01:00:00.001-05:00

Io Sono Amore

2011-02-10T01:00:00.001-05:00

Il Sartorialist

2011-02-09T01:00:00.001-05:00

Pasolini

2011-02-08T01:00:00.001-05:00

Fare thee well sweet home of mine...Chapter Three

2011-02-07T10:28:00.000-05:00

The hour is upon us. I leave tomorrow. I've not finished my packing and seem to be in a dream state. My brother an avid cyclist has put together a bike for me, but there was a big predicament about getting it there. Thankfully that's been ironed out and I can bring it on the plane with me.

It may look terribly cold now, but the water is the most gorgeous shade of blue-green. My brother and I go snorkeling here in the summer months.

This weekend my sister threw a surprise party for me, which was a first for me. My favorite card along with a gorgeous tie clip came from my best friend Marlen. I hope she won't mind if I quote some of it:

"...Tell Tilda [Swinton] I say 'hi.' Don't let her feed you anything...Also, if you're coming dangerously close to selling your body to pay for a cappuccino, please just trade this instead..."

More views of Jamestown (Conanicut Island).

And here is my favorite house in all the world (one of them). Down a long Manderley-esque driveway lives a humble Georgian cottage that sits atop a cliff. The surrounding landscape is more reminiscent of Monterosso than Rhode Island with it's grape vines and cypress trees, which juts down 30 feet to the rocky Mackerel Cove where a tiny dock awaits you. If this is your house, yes, I walked on your property and took pictures. Why in the world don't you live here year round? You're one of the few places on the water protected from the feared Nor'easter! Please contact me if you'd like me take care of the house for you.

Well, my dears, this is the last post State-side. The next time I'll be speaking to you will be from Italy! As soon as I get my internet situation figured out I'll be posting regularly, I hope you'll join me on this journey...

Fare thee well sweet home of mine...Chapter Two

2011-02-04T15:34:00.003-05:00

My favorite jaunt in all Rhode Island is to little Conanicut Island. Where endless farms and pastures mingle with rocky cliffs, where a thick forest can still be found and tiny coves are sparsely dotted with houses reminicent of Thornfield Hall. Lest we forget the best espresso and foccacia bread that can be found this side of Verona, only on weekends of course. Last night gave us a beautiful sunset, an anomaly for this little isle.

Here, a view at Mackeral Cove:

There's a terribly morbid story involving this cove, but I'll save it for a more apt day.

Ps: If you want to miss your mom really bad, go over and watch Amy's beautiful footage of her mother as a young woman.

Fare thee well sweet home of mine...Chapter One

2011-02-03T18:08:00.000-05:00

I think for the next few days I'll just be posting pictures of the homeland I keep close to my heart. Rhode Island is a small place, but has many gorgeous vistas. This tree on a farm near my home is something I pass on a daily basis.

It's especially stunning when the grass is newly green and leaves haven't budded. Very gothic.

A George Plenderleith

2011-02-02T14:38:00.000-05:00

After reading the great Admiral Cod's suggestions the other day on his places to buy tweed, I happened upon something that has left me salivating. When one is short and narrow as I am, one struggles to find clothes that fit that do not one like a schoolboy wearing his papa's accoutrements. So finding this HERE obviously left me all agog:

Not only is it a gorgeous tweed, it's my size AND it was made in 1932. Heavens to Murgatroyd where are my salts!? If it wasn't for the move and my seeming refusal to spend money on anything, I would have bought this last week. How perfect would it be for the country place? - oh, the rides I could have wearing it!

Una Settimana!

2011-01-31T19:30:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time I was a star Italian student. I could carry on conversations over imaginary cigarettes in the cafeteria, and I translated Vogue Italia to those less fortunate then I. Not anymore. Having to talk with people over the phone makes me jittery, but in Italian even worse. "You English speak?" I resort to. Shame on me! Then I remembered, in the depths of my wardrobe is a notebook I used for the years I spent studying Italian. Wouldn't it be a scream to unearth it?

And a scream it was. Amongst the scratchy handwriting, pages and columns filled with sketches of women with Louise Brooks bobs and finger waves (some things never change), recipes photocopied from Martha Stewart and a gushing letter of recommendation from my Italian teacher that actually made me tear up, was proof of my proficiency.

I'm hoping that as soon as I get there I have some sort of "awakening" that has happened in times past, but I think I'll be studying this notebook before bed this week, trying to ignore the embarassing reminders of times past.

Ritratto di Signora

2011-01-28T15:40:00.000-05:00

Ritratto di Signora. Marcello Dudovich, 1935

I really hope when I'm over in Italy, I bump into this lady. She'll of course: hire me as her assistant/servant which I will gladly do, then after years of servitude, leave me her fortune and Art Deco villa. And the ski chalet in Courmayeur. And the apartment in Venice. Or something like that.

Marcello Dudovich is famous for the posters synomynous with TJ Maxx or Marshalls, found in every mother-in-law's kitchen. This portrait, though, is amazing, and should be used for a book cover soon!

The Japanese Years, Continued

2011-01-26T21:40:00.000-05:00

I've posted about the formative years my father spent with his family in Japan. Of all the places he lived, Japan was by far his favorite. As a kid I would look at the three lacquered albums in absolute awe and daydream about what life would have been like for them and wonder why weren't still there. Here are a few of the black and whites:

My favorite picture of my Grandmama (she wanted us to call her that...we didn't) ever. I'm impressed with my grandpa's eye for composition!

Grandpa with his best friend, Fuji and others. The picture was labled "fakku." I'm guessing that's where he learned it's meaning.

Fuji and a maiko. Don't you just love Fuji?

On a sightseeing trip through the countryside with the boys.

The last photo in the albums and my favorite. Fuji working the dancefloor with Grandma and Grandpa dancing in the background. They were quite the dancers and even in old age Grandma looked like her feet were never touching the ground.

A Big Blunder

2011-01-25T13:44:00.001-05:00

I feel that it is my duty to tell you that in my posts a few weeks ago I mentioned how James Lees-Milne did great things for the Landmark Trust; this is false. Thanks to an anonymous comment I received, I now know it was, in fact, the National Trust. I should have picked up my error when editing, but obviously missed it. I blame the fact that the Landmark Trust is one of my bookmarks, and I check it regularly fantasizing about a trip spent in one of their properties. Nevertheless, I apologize profusely.

James Lees-Milne. Switzerland, 1935.

Will you forgive me?