The Baron wore black.

He's back!

The bride stripped bare by her bachelors, even

My apartment needs some attention.

(photos of Marcel Duchamp's studio and the Duchamp brothers found via Hoping for Happy Accidents)

Hand in hand, the bat and the owl disappeared into the wood between the worlds.

I'm a bit late with this story, but this house seems lifted out of Last Year at Marienbad, for the purpose of literally gliding with vague deliberation down the hallway in a tangle of half-discarded dress, heels long since slipped from levitating feet. It all feels quite like a project I'm working on right now. And also, how strange for these 40-year residents of 190 Bowery, to be discovered, like an opera house in Bushwick, when really, they have been there all along.

Sweet, not vicious.

Lovely little Charlotte Mary, full of peace and unbridled joy in her Jezebel onesie.

The Silence.

Abandoned hotel, sheath dresses, brass beds, cafes, crystal chandeliers, train voyages, smothering heat, absolute quiet.

Teepee in Lace.

from the home of Obedient Sons, photo by the Selby

Doors to forgotten worlds.

After an evening of serious Brooklyn stoop sitting, I headed up to Beacon to spend the day with dear friends of the oldest variety.  We ate a delicious Polish lunch and topped it off with orange-coconut popsicles.   I loaded my car up with a bounty of riches from my dear boys, including an Eames lounger, a writing desk, and 2 cut crystal lamps.  Before heading back to Brooklyn, we went over to a house on a stream that feeds into the Hudson for a barbeque.  We were given a tour of the house, which was amazing, not the least for the doors and hardware that came from an opera house...in Bushwick!  Who knew?  At first, it all seemed very Fitzcarraldo to me, but then the owner of said doors and said house explained that with the influx of beer breweries in 1800s Bushwick, came opera.  A ha!  Or shall I say, brava!

Aren't these sweet?

Oh, yeah, forgot to tell you that the necklace is made out of a human tooth, and the earrings out of real live-dead finger bones. These, and more of Cloven Hoof's macabre, gorgeous curiosities will be on the shelves of Catbird in the witchiest of months, October. Cloven Hoof's lookbook is nearly as awesome as it's creator, Emine, who stopped in to the store to show us her wares, and snuggle Teepee.

Knees and elbows and bare feet, oh my!

Though the didactic little intro isn't necessary, the rest is haunting. All of this detritus was rescued from a single movie house somewhere in Pennsylvania.

I'm on Jupiter waving my arms at you.

I just finished cooking something up for Earl Greyhound that I can't wait to share with you. But, wait we will. Until then, I'm going to bathe in the beauty of an EG acoustic live recording session this evening.

Jezebel at Bowne and Co. Stationers

Following a horrendous brunch a few weeks ago, a serendipitous meeting ensued with the couldn't be sweeter unless their veins flowed with cotton candy duo behind Bowne and Co. Stationers, Robert and Fela. I'm tickled pink that they've added Jezebel to the shelves of their amazing shop, which is part of the South Street Seaport Museum, and functions as if it were the 1870s. Really! I swear. Robert and Fela don't even have internet access! It is worth slugging through Fulton Street, right past the melodiously named Pearl Street, to turn left at Water Street and step back into the way back machine. Next time I'm down there, I plan on bringing a fat book and an enormous cup of coffee (sorry, Kusmi) and planting myself on the benches across the way, before walking down the block for a visit to Leontine.

Cooling off.

I just made some cold peanut noodles with ginger and lime and some very hot baby okra. Hot even for a heat-loving vegetarian such as myself (according to my friend Gabe, vegetarians love hot sauce because it makes our food edible.) These photos of Rachel Feinstein and John Currin are so, so wonderfully cool and kooky and refreshing and continue to convince me that they are straight out of the world of Peggy Guggenheim, Jackson Pollock, Diego and Frida, et al. Along with Isabel and Ruben Toledo, they are caped crusaders, modern day champions of old-fashioned, elusive matrimonial bliss.

(1st image from style.com, 2nd from The Telegraph)

There I found my Selma.

photo from the Times

Turquoise jewelry? Yes! Gold spray-painted walls? Yes! Fur of the non-thrift store variety? No thank you. Regardless, read this fascinating story about Irving Feller, the artist/furrier/romantic behind Manhattan Furrier, in Greenpoint- I learned about him through The Moment. I would like to visit him and then have a beer at Papacito's, followed by dinner at The Queen's Hideaway.

Ada's faded revolutionaries, all in gleaming furs.

I'm not particularly a tea person; I am particularly a coffee person. I find tea to be very dry - not without flavor, it just feels oddly...dry, for a liquid. I am, however a beautiful packaging/company with serious history person (Kusmi was founded in St Petersburg in 1867 and re-located to Paris on the eve of the Russian Revolution), so I now plotting which Kusmi tea to purchase. It might be the smoky Earl Grey or the spicy chocolate.

Spirit Animal House - tonight at Piano's!

Go! Bid on the Jezebel goods I donated and all the other wonderfulness, too. All proceeds benefit BARC, et al.

My castle, my books.

I recently devoured Anne Sexton: A Biography by Diane Middlebrook. On a lighter note, to counter-balance the ideas of "the mental hospital as a metaphorical space in which to articulate the crazy-making pressures of middle-class life, particularly for women," Sexton has invigorated my commitment to sending thank you cards, and proper correspondence. A novel notion for a stationer, no? I found this note, dashed off after drinks at the Algonquin, particularly delightful:

You were utterly charming and distinguished, and I would
have liked a third Bloody Mary and more laughter.

A knight in shining white.

Blow-Up

David Rager and Cheri Messerli from The Selby

Aside from the obvious allure of the brunettes in both of these photos, they provide excellent sartorial inspiration for KP, who is quite taken with photo-taking, Blow-Up, white denim, and button-downs with pushed up sleeves.

p.s. further inspiration

To Saipua with Love.

I sadly don't know Sarah from Saipua in real life, but a post like this makes me think I do. Literature, ritual, dumplings by the beach! A girl after my own heart (except for the fact that she posted at 7:19 am- I'm getting better at mornings, but not that much better.)

Jezebel loves her ABC

Jezebel is back on the shelves in Cursive at ABC Carpet & Home. I fear that if I walk through those doors, my footloose and furniture-less, new-apartment-having self might weep with envy and desire. Thanks to the ever-wonderful M.K. of Cursive for taking these lovely shots.

Silhouettes and The Selby.

I can't get enough. Yeah, yeah, me and everyone else. Sometimes it's okay to join the bandwagon.

Brave new anachronistic world.

Vivienne Westwood explains it all, perfectly:

... it may refer to the past, but it's always
projected into this heroic future.
Precisely the thought I've been fumbling around for, oh, way to long to not have come up with a way to say it on my own.

Reminder: Old Hollywood!

Don't forget: Tiffers is opening a store! Old Hollywood will debut in September, right across the street from Fred Flare. Amongst other treasures, Old Hollywood will be selling Jezebel tees and cards and spillover from my time at the Brooklyn Flea (see above photo.) Oh, Old Hollywood, we (Teepee and me) anticipate spending lots of quality time with you. Why, you ask? Because:

We listen to records and wear petticoats. We drink bourbon and eat coconuts. We ride skateboards in mini-skirts. We play accordions and develop film. We are Old Hollywood.