If Lucien's unseemly delight in drawing her attention to the detailed biological diagrams required to support his "research" wasn't enough, his eerie duplication of her daily choice of knitwear should have set alarm bells ringing.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Public Library Number 1.
If Lucien's unseemly delight in drawing her attention to the detailed biological diagrams required to support his "research" wasn't enough, his eerie duplication of her daily choice of knitwear should have set alarm bells ringing.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Things Go Better With Love
They just do.
Authentic psychedelic era textile wall-hanging and one of my favourite things.
It also reminds me of a joke from my childhood (and it was an old joke even then):
Q: What do monsters eat?
A: Things.
Q: And what do monsters drink?
A: Coke. Because Things go better with Coke.
It also reminds me of a joke from my childhood (and it was an old joke even then):
Q: What do monsters eat?
A: Things.
Q: And what do monsters drink?
A: Coke. Because Things go better with Coke.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tea-Towels I Have Loved (Part 1)
A tea-towel is the most utilitarian of textiles. Drab tea-towels are the faceless public servants of the kitchen, drying the washing-up and swabbing the counter tops with a mind numbing lack of grace or charm. But ah, there are vintage tea-towels at large in the world, small brightly printed rectangles of joie de vivre.
A series of these delights will be blogged here, but for the position of honour at head of the parade I gladly hand over to my wonderful sister Du, who combines a sweet appreciation of any day's little felicities with a way with words which leaves me awestruck. Her topic is a jauntily sophisticated vintage tea-towel gleaned from a nicely laundered and neatly folded stack of its lesser fellows at a garage sale in Blackheath (NSW Blue Mountains) last year:
"This one is of such generous proportions that it might even be some sort of supper cloth: something you’d whisk out of the drawer and onto the traymobile as you hear the crunch of approaching drinkers on the gravel outside the sitting room window. The sun is dropping. Time to tinkle the swizzle sticks, Delores.
With a strict palette of red, green and black and the minimum of confidently rendered detail, the artist has somehow evoked a whole party in two dimensions.
The jolliness of the simple red and green border device just adds a little something, without intruding on the main graphic content.
There are no repeats in this cocktail cavalcade.
You dream them up, drink them and instantly forget how you made them. Some are sweetly fizzy, others still and deadly with a pearly onion punch at the final draught. Sup up kid and let’s have another."
A series of these delights will be blogged here, but for the position of honour at head of the parade I gladly hand over to my wonderful sister Du, who combines a sweet appreciation of any day's little felicities with a way with words which leaves me awestruck. Her topic is a jauntily sophisticated vintage tea-towel gleaned from a nicely laundered and neatly folded stack of its lesser fellows at a garage sale in Blackheath (NSW Blue Mountains) last year:
"This one is of such generous proportions that it might even be some sort of supper cloth: something you’d whisk out of the drawer and onto the traymobile as you hear the crunch of approaching drinkers on the gravel outside the sitting room window. The sun is dropping. Time to tinkle the swizzle sticks, Delores.
With a strict palette of red, green and black and the minimum of confidently rendered detail, the artist has somehow evoked a whole party in two dimensions.
The jolliness of the simple red and green border device just adds a little something, without intruding on the main graphic content.
There are no repeats in this cocktail cavalcade.
You dream them up, drink them and instantly forget how you made them. Some are sweetly fizzy, others still and deadly with a pearly onion punch at the final draught. Sup up kid and let’s have another."
Thursday, March 24, 2011
There's a Fish in my coffee!
In the enchanted poinciana-shaded glades of the Hotel Brunswick garden little trippy things are welcome to happen. It took several minutes of delighted appreciation and a couple more of agonising before I could bring myself to dissolve this masterpiece of piscatorial ephemera (thankfully my husband had his phone with him and took a photo, or I might be there still).My mother, visiting from cooler climes, was similarly impressed with (although less compunct in getting down to the business of drinking) her frangipani-topped cup.
Not in any way related to vintage fabrics of course, but thanks to Nadia for not being afraid to express her happy spirit and for weaving a sparkling thread into the fabric of our day :)
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