My castle, my books.

image from Salvador Dali's Dream of Venus Pavilion at the 1939 World's Fair

In preparation for a collaboration, I am steeping myself in Americana. Think Little House on the Prairie, Spoon River Anthology, and Little, Big. Oh, and Dylan's Desire. I'm reading Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War by Nathaniel Philbrick, and am particularly taken with the naming of Pilgrim children (Love and Wrestling were small brother passengers aboard) and a particular Stranger, Stephen Hopkins who crossed the Atlantic with the Pilgrims. In 1609 Hopkins was shipwrecked on the shores of Bermuda and it was this incident that formed the basis of Shakespeare's The Tempest. Which has me thinking all about Dali's Dream of Venus and that part of Matthew Barney's Cremaster that was full of Opera Houses, and Pearls, and nymphs and Ursula Andress. Cremaster number what? I can't remember.

My castle, my books.

Pattie Boyd and Eric Clapton

I completely forgot to inform you that I swiped Clapton: The Autobiography from KP and read it.

Bernice spoke Latin with alacrity.

bernice spoke latin with alacrity

Yesterday, I corresponded. Today, I correspond. Tomorrow, I will correspond.

Today's missives are being sent to Jennifer Jason Leigh, Babbette Hines, Poets House, and KP's cousin. Still on the list: a favorite photographer.

The Children's Hour

postcard of the unveiling of the Peter Pan sculpture in Sefton Park, Liverpool, 1928

A few months ago, as I spent some time making feather headdresses for one Peter Pan obsessed 4 year old, I thought to myself, "I could do this all day."

A few days ago, a singer in a red dress asked me if I work as a stylist.

A few weeks ago, I read this quote from Anna Wintour's introduction to Stylist: The Interpreters of Fashion, a book I had dismissed, which I now covet: "One thing that struck me is the degree to which the fashion editor's visual perspective is governed by his or her earliest years. The gardens, the schools, the neighbors, the light - all are signifiers that come back again and again in the work of the grown child."

Oh, Indiana.

Seventeen years, I've been waiting. Opening day of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull just happens to be the day after the last day of the National Stationery Show. In the cool, cool, cool of the moviehouse I will be transported away from the Javits Center. My beloved Vanity Fair has an inside look. Oh, and the blonde minx has been traded in for a bobbed brunette Blanchett.

My castle, my books.

Tonight I'll be bathing with Ava, by Charles Higham. So lucky to have a boyfriend with a bathtub as my own castle did not come equipped with one.

This is the first day in history.

ronnie + mccartney, 1979, from babbette hines's the found photo

The dear and wonderful Elizabeth Deull purchased me the dear and wonderful Love Letters, Lost. You ought not be put off by the lackluster cover. Everything on the inside is so very beautiful and I plan on plundering these missives for Jezebelian inspiration. I feel a kinship with Babbette Hines, the author, as curators and revivers of things lost, and also enjoy the kinship between this title and my favorite title from Shakespeare, Love's Labour's Lost. The message in a bottle letters made me think of Liz's night-swimming, starry sky paintings.

I Get It Now, Elizabeth Deull, 2007

My castle, my books.

Miles and his very stylish wife, Frances

Dearest, from now on I intend to let you know what I am reading. On January 1, I swiped Miles: The Autobiography, from the almost black and ivory striped book case of my dearest. Might I suggest: while I read Miles, you watch Elevator to the Gallows, directed by Louis Malle, starring Jeanne Moreau, and scored by Miles Davis.

Bells, Books, and Candles.

New Years wishes for all and all alike: sunsets in Atlantic City and Cleopatra slot machines, African masks and cats or kittens, Larune tunes on New Years Eve, Tiger Lily headresses fashioned from construction paper, record players spinning with the sound of Ella in love, absinthe- with the aid of golden fairy spoons, new babies and new bands, and bells, books, and candles.

Oh, Binth!

I was so happy when I clicked onto Blueprint's blog this morning and found a tour of Binth's studio that included Linnea wearing a Jezebel tee shirt. They don't come any nicer than Binth. The people and the products, that is.