The Yellow Books

Recently a large unadorned structural objet came into my daily work life, and it called out for some immediate tarting up.

So I papered it.  I've been collecting wallpaper samples for the past decade, having almost papered my dining room. For this small but conspicuous project, I went to my first wallpaper discovery, J. R. Burrows and selected Priory Garden, which was created in the "style" of William Morris. 

I did notice that the Burrows Company said that rolls of the wallpaper, imported from England somewhere around 1983, were found in the attic of the Nowrood, Massachusetts, family home of the publisher and photographer Fred Holland Day, but attic schmattic, Day Schmay, blah,blah, blah: I was interested in the flowers and colours.

So (and there's always a "so") I was surprised to learn, while discussing how many rolls to order with the charming J. R. Burrows over the phone, that my new wallpaper has a literary pedigree. 

For Fred Holland Day, who papered his father's bedroom in the historic Norwood Holland Day House with Priory Garden, also published the American edition of The Yellow Book, a popular literary magazine (1894-1897) from London. 

The illustrator Aubrey Beardsley was its first art editor, and male literary greats such as Henry James, William Butler Yeats and H. G. Wells were printed in it.  The Yellow Book also promoted women writers, such as Ada Leverson and illustrators, such as Ethel Reed.

A couple of other Yellow Books that have recently caught my eye are those by the artist Harland Miller. Utterly self-aware of his sometimes "macho" (his word) work, Miller creates fictional Penguin covers with a wink. 

Some of these covers look to be a good eight feet tall; some fit beautifully over a mantle, such as this cheeky pink book in the London home of decorator Harriet Anstruther:


The fine print is bold.

 There do not appear to be any yellow books in Anstruther's home, but lush, bitten rosy pinks abound:

I'll give Miller the last word:

Uptown, Downton: Lady Sybil's Purple Dress

Uptown, Updated:  Suffragette Jewelry Below

It's no hyperbole to suggest that I have gone Downton this week; Mr. C and I have been enjoying a mini Downton Abbey marathon.

I enjoy how the writer/creator skirts the tension between popular culture (honestly; the Titanic?!) and corseted drama. 

And I'm attracted to many of the skirts too, especially this purple gown worn by the lush Lady Sybil in Season I.

It captures Sybil's youth perfectly, with the pick stitching and sweet embroidery.  And the colour invites my eye to linger.

Any favourite Downton dresses out there?

The dress in motion



The dress at rest.

Thanks to brilliant jeweler Belle de Ville for pointing out that purple, green, and white are the colors of jewels and badges worn by suffragettes (and Lady Sybil is all about women's rights. She even transforms the helplessness of not understanding how to fill a tea kettle into a charming feminist quest for knowledge).  Here are some examples of suffragette style:

Afternoon of the Garter: Kate's Red Dress

On the heels of her first wedding anniversary, I like how the Duchess of Cambridge wore this red Alexander McQueen dress to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee. 

It recalls, for me, the red jacket that her groom wore as the Knight of the Garter on their wedding day.

Of Mad woMen and Bulldogs

I've never enjoyed doing just one thing at a time: I have my day job but also copyedit, freelance for magazines, blog, perform, etc.

It was the same in graduate school when, perhaps in a classic case of dissertatus avoidus, I studied fashion illustration, copyedited, worked as a research assistant, etc. 

Looking for another item to list on my CV, one day this then-graduate student saw an ad for an entry level creative position with an advertising agency.  Sure, I had zero experience, but whipped up some sample ads and sent them off.  The office move has unearthed some of them, one of which is above.

That's a sketch of my beloved bulldog Marilla, promoting a fictional Groom and Board in the home town of my second bulldog, Bossy, who we adopted on a cross-country road trip while passing through Kansas.  The ad is obviously primitive, by today's standards (and perhaps by yesterday's too), but it was, quite honestly, fun to give it a whirl.

I didn't get the ad agency position, but the ads bring back fond memories.

"Vintage" Finds

I am moving office, and one of the treasures I unearthed from my file cabinet is a modest collection of magazine clippings of clothes I liked back in the day.

The first two images are from Town and Country, a magazine I very rarely look at, but am rather delighted that I bought this time.  The model is Annette Roque, whom I like to think of on her own, not as the spouse of a famous guy.  I remember when she modelled for the late great Mirabella magazine, and I brought with me to Frederic Fekkai a photo of her short, chic bob to serve as inspiration for when I had my close-to-waist-length locks chopped off.

The top image strikes me as a tremendously appealing way to wear something I haven't worn since my summer days waiting tables: a white blouse.  The skirt and shirt are both from Bill Blass (remember him?) and I think that the crisp A-line skirt speaks to me so because of its embroidery.  It reminds me of the reputation-making safety-pin gown by Versace that Elizabeth Hurley wore out with Hugh Grant (back when she also carried off a sweet bob).

Metallic sandals by Manolo Blahnik (priced at what NOW seems like a reasonable $465) stand the test of time.  I don't think anyone'd be asking me for a water refill in this ensemble.

The second look is top to knee YSL Rive Gauche.  It's from when that particular pinky-brown was Yves' signature color, a color I love.  This skirt, with its decorative "diamond" gathers in front recalls some lines from a favorite Maya Angelou poem:

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?  

("Still I Rise")

Last is this jacket by Valentino, from InStyle, I believe.  I love the juxtaposition of the strong leather with the delicate mother-of-pearl. 

It recalls some furniture designs, such as this inlay chest:

I would feel like a streamlined Moroccan pouf if I wore this jacket, in the best of all possible ways.

Running on Empty? Tabitha Soren's Photographs

When I was little, I used to make up mini musicals in my parents' bedroom and act them out in front of their mirror.  I rememebr writing one song called "Running" and turning over the performing honors to my favorite Barbie, a 1976 Miss America modeled on Tawny Godin.

The song was a dud; it wouldn't even pass muster on Smash, the TV show that makes Melrose Place look like Downton Abbey--but I still remember every lyric, though I've repressed them.

The song came rushing back when I learned via Vanity Fair's Twitter update that Tabitha Soren was mounting a show of her "running" photographs.  Gentle readers may know that I not only love running (though I am confined to an elliptical until an injury heals) but also enjoy looking at photos of runners (see post below).

Soren's photos are not athletic, however; rather, they capture a manufactured panic akin to the films of David Lynch (Mullholland Drive comes to mind) or the images of Cindy Sherman.

Note: Sherman, who photographs herself, is much more effective with "facials," a term I just learned from glimpsing a ghastly episode of Toddlers and Tiaras after a late-night copyediting binge.  She articulates just the right expression in each image, whereas Soren's models often hide their faces with their hair or look behind them. (Or both.)

This strategy reminds me of when Sean Combs played Walter Lee Younger on stage opposite the brilliant Audra McDonald.  When he'd have to convey a powerful emotion, he'd bury his face in his hands.

Critical tangents aside, Soren's photgraphs do project a certain kinetic appeal.  But they remain earthbound, instead of soaring.

Gayle Olinekova: Powerful Beauty Found

I've been searching for this image, of a female runner with extraordinarily powerful legs, for quite some time, but could never come up with just the right computer search terms to locate it.

I initially considered Grete Waitz, because I thought "marathon," but no.  Then I tried various combinations of key words, believing that the image was from the 1980s, but had no luck.  At one point I thought that Annie Leibovitz might have been the photographer and felt myself growing warm, but twas another dead end. 

A computer search of Olympic female sprinters who won medals in the 1970s and 1980s?  Some promising European names were on the list--how Inge and Lyudmilla started to ring ferocious bells--but no, again.

Then tonight I typed in "Helmut Newton woman running beach" and my heart started to beat, because of course it was he who had photographed the gorgeous Gayle Olinekova, who was, of all nationalities, a Canadian(!) who transplanted to California, where Mr. Newton took her photograph (below): 

Olinekova (born Olinek) initially ran the 400-meter before becoming a marathoner  Her runner's legs were everything I aspired toward in my teen years, with their balance of muscularity and femininity. And these photos, from around 1981, taken when I was in Grade 10 or so, still inspire awe.