Incandescence

Glowing gladioli & lovely Ingrid. Bella. Obviously yearning for summer flowers. (Ingrid Bergman via myvintagevogue; gladioli from BHG via Domino Deco file )

Capucine

A little fast forward fantasizing to summer. This is a Genevieve Naylor photograph of model-actress Capucine with an apricot-colored kitten in 1958 Paris. Capucine means 'nasturium' in French & so nothing to do with coffee; but I'd be lying if I said caffeine didn't pop into my mind as I watched The Pink Panther (the real one) this weekend. She plays Simone Clouseau for the uninitiated. I'd already been looking at images of espresso with floating foam flowers. And wishing I could go somewhere, anywhere (almost) this summer. (photograph via myvintagevogue on flickr)

Café latté l'arté

So cute. Especially on a Monday a.m. Not correct Italian but no matter. Just for fun. (quick credits, here, & here, more when I can do more than cite GG 's The Art of Coffee). baci, bisou

Two Sisters in Naples

An Original Polaroid Land Camera photograph by a friend's wonderful father, a true Renaissance officer (at the nearby NATO base) & a gentleman. Naples area, same time as the On the edge of Vesuvius photographs. (This photo has aged, yes, but the tones were on purpose, I'm certain, from having seen the photographer's other work.)

These two women, Sorella Louisa & Sorella Chiarina were responsible for an orphanage for girls. It was not an orphanage in the strictest sense as most girls had families; however, mostly for financial reasons, the girls did not live at home. The alternative was prostitution; most were under age 12. It was about as shocking as anything I'd seen or heard & I'd seen & heard plenty before then.

We spent a lot of time with the girls, the local priest, Louisa & Chiarina, & a few others who were about during that time. Many girls went home for a few days during the holidays. We all worried a lot about what might happen if some of the girls' families (read: the father) did not allow them to return. This happened more than occasionally.

One little girl who remained behind during holidays was from Nice. She'd been dropped off unceremoniously about a week before this photograph & of course did not yet know much Italian. I was asked to visit with her. She was adorable, of course, & I don't know what happened to her. It's not all tragic, some hilarious things (intentional & unintentional) occurred. But that's another time. I race against time for now. Louisa & Chiarina were wonderful & took good care of a lot of children with very few resources. They were the very definition of grace. xo

Sunday in the park with George...

George Brett, that is. The local-to-DC photographer who has been taking marvellous cherry blossom pix. Here are some more about-to-bloom-lovelies ( from GG's site last week) while I search for computer time for next week. Please visit Giulia Geranium to listen to Jean Wyclef sing his Million Voices from Hotel Rwanda's soundtrack. Tomorrow is the 15th anniversary of the beginning of the Rwandan genocide. Yes, worlds collide. That's just the way it is. ciao belle!

Update: I nearly posted a bride's photograph but checked George's site (for other reasons). I see that she asked for the photograph to be deleted. (I love his explanation, pictured, center.) So one goes to a very public place in Washington, DC during our largest annual event, the National Cherry Blossom Festival (a million visitors), & you make people take down the photograph? OK, whatever. But then you ask for copies for personal use?! I'm so glad that he declined the "honor." Here's the conversation on George's flickr site. He is calm & collected; I am steamed. (About the bridal behavior--not because I can't use the photograph; I like the replacement so much better:)

Week's End - Marguerite in Black & White

Picture collection only, sadly. So it should be this, as I am flower-mad. Hope everyone has a great weekend. (I'm typing this on Tuesday morning, so not sure when I'll "see" you next. Hope it's soon!) xo (photo by lovely Miki**)

Purple Crocus

Forgive these hasty posts. Just setting things to publish for the next few days due to serious computer problems. This is a lovely photograph by Gertrud K of Berlin; she's been quite generous in her permissions. Here is her photostream. On the other blog, I put in a Linda Pastan poem & will do so here, too, below. (originally in The Atlantic Monthly)

Crocuses

They come
by stealth, spreading
the rumour of spring --
near the hedge . . .
by the gate . . .
at our chilly feet . . .
mothers of saffron, fathers
of insurrection, purple
and yellow scouts
of an army still massing
just to the south.

Mirror, mirror

Models and Queensborough Bridge, New York by William Klein, 1962. Not sure if this was in Vogue but he did some work there. He went to live in Paris a long time ago & is well-known in Europe but not as much here. Went on to make films. Obviously I'm not The Clever Pup; she would have this all worked out & written up beautifully. Via a scan from my 2007 Metropolitan Museum of Art New York, New York desk agenda. The text says this was printed in 1988, so it wouldn't have been in a magazine most likely. I remember liking Klein's photos; there's a lot of distortion, chaos, confusion. Maybe he drank too much coffee, too. My mother wore clothes like this...in fact, she made them quite often (or had someone else do it when she sewed our clothes).

Blood oranges

For writing project, later. (boqueria-2 credit; blood orange macro credit)

Chandelier

Yeats & a chandelier & now the reference is not to be found. No matter. The pictures are pretty & that's all I'm up to at present. Now, to find that blue beaded one from Bleu/Blue...it's somewhere, I'm sure. The idea of it is better than actually having it, surely. But to have one somewhere in the apartment would be swell (the "chandelier" in-situ doesn't count). The pink one matches Julie's nose & paw-pads (she's particularly pinky & delightful today, so please excuse the twee. It lightens things a bit).

On another pink note: cherry blossoms are everywhere here & still no word from the photographer to whom I wrote. I guess I'll have to ask someone else. I won't be online tomorrow (Wednesday, 1 April); I'm paranoid about that hideous virus featured on 60 Minutes on Sunday.

As an English friend said recently, Cheery bye!

[Photos: The kitchen with chandelier is from Domino Deco file; the adorable pink chandelier is by Shimelle & used with her kind permission; Shimelle's photostream, here.]

Café in Black & White

Lovely shot & a nice bilingual sentiment (here) by photographer Victor Nuño in a Spanish café. Would that we were there. Spaniards love cats, so no problem taking Julie.

In the orangerie...

I was potting up a few small plants (from cuttings) & thought for the millionth time since I was a child, oh wouldn't it be lovely to have a small greenhouse, conservatory, l'orangerie? Whatever you want to call it, that's what I thought immediately upon seeing this vintage Vogue 1949 photograph with the palms & other plants in the background. The provenance of the peasant-type top is uncertain but let's say she discovered a bit of Fortuny silk in her steamer trunk & used it for this...(it's 1948 & she's been separated from her belongings during the war). The photo of the old Italian pots reminds me of the smaller ones I have from Washington Cathedral's now-defunct (boo!) greenhouse & potting shed. They made their own pots (I know!)...started by the original Italian stonecutters who moved here to build the Cathedral. It will be awful the first weekend of May without a real Flower Mart since it began in the 1930s. I do worry about Katherine of Tarragon, the resident Cathedral herb garden/greenhouse cat. She must miss her run of the Cathedral & grounds. Poor lamb.

(second photo from Domino Deco file)

Pussywillow

"Once there was a farmer who had a cat. One spring, the cat gave birth to a litter of kittens. The kittens were too many for the cat to nurse. The farmer decided to throw the kittens into the river, since there were too many to feed. The mother cat, however, was devastated by the loss of her kittens. The cat went to the riverbank to rescue her children, but she was not strong enough or able to rescue them all. She began wailing in grief, and her cries were carried by the wind throughout the river valley. The kittens also cried in their struggles to survive in the torrent. The willow trees along the bank heard the cries of mother and children. Each willow dropped its branches to the water. As the kittens washed through, the willows scooped them up into their saving branches. Today we see each spring the reminder of their saving ways. The image of the kittens nestles in the bows of the pussywillow." (from The White Willow)

As a child & teenager, a few sprigs were often in a vintage jar on my nightstand (before the lilacs bloomed). Like any child, I'd pet them & pretend they were kittens. I spent an inordinate amount of my childhood accompanying my mother to all sorts of wild places with her "plant knife" (an old paring knife) & tiny pruning shears; she kept these in her purse always because, as she said, "you never know.'"Reeds, pussywillow, cattails. It sounds better than it was...lots of scraped bare legs (mine, not hers; she directed the action).

I almost brought some willow into the apartment this weekend but the temptation to Julie the Cat would be too great. Even with marbles in the vase, it wouldn't be enough to prevent upending & yelling (that would be me). We had an unfortunate forsythia situation last year; I tempted poor Julie not once, but twice with long fluffy branches. The predictable happened & I yelled. Then I hated myself; she was puzzled & full of hurt feelings. Until I have some sort of concrete urn on the floor, we shall admire branches in nature & in photographs. (The photograph is an especially elegant arrangement from a Domino Deco file & yes I hit the 'saturate' button in Picasa. I cannot help myself, it's a sickness). As usual, computer problems, so I hope to see you tomorrow.

PS: Working on cherry-blossom-in-DC-time but awaiting a photographer's permission for his beautiful on-the-spot pix. The festival officially began yesterday. The pink-blooming wild cherry outside my window is lovely & ethereal against the morning's fog.

Week's End - Ava in Black & White

Lovely feline Ava with her Siamese kitty-cat. At home in Hollywood in 1946, before she (wisely) decamped for London & away from that crazy Sinatra. Why do I know these things? Surely, it clutters the mind. Anyway, this is from the Hollywood Cats book (via scan). Computer crisis, can you tell?! Hope to be back on the weekend. Wish me luck. xo

The other side of the blue wall

So why can't she have the balloons? Pretty colors, though.(photo credit)

L'heure bleue, Paris window

For later, writing project. Another l'heure bleue photograph & as a bonus it includes my window fixation. This is by a terrific guy in Paris, Yannick Vigouroux who has been very helpful with photographs, the color blue, & the French poetry scene. You just never know when you write to someone for permission what will happen. Sometimes, it's just "sure." And that's fine. And then sometimes it's a lot more. I'll be out & about the rest of the week & the computer is edgy. So I'm going to set photos to run through Friday. Just in case. Ciao & thanks, Yannick!

Fish

No one on whom to pin the blame & isn't it frustrating to so many? To dear N., much more than the baby in the barn. Who loved, loved, loved fish. Not just the ones in the ocean but all of'em. xo. (photo credit)

Afternoon in Ercolano

Out of a sow's ear...these photos are awful but a reminder of a day spent at a friend's office. She was charged with renovating a palazzo, outer buildings (including huge stables...all I could think was poor Hercules with that particular chore), & gardens...& starting a graduate business school for the Italian government. In English. And dealing with some sort of flower show or display that day & the bitterly complaining florists (about where each one had been assigned for their arrangement). And, and, and. My friend handled it all quite gracefully, including a depressed friend who showed up for three weeks with one pair of black jeans, three black turtlenecks, a boyfriend's old red pullover, & not much else. Oh, yes, a list of complaints about life. The other pictures from the trip are all in bright sunlight so I'm not sure what happened here. The flash went off, we thought so anyway. This is really for writing purposes & later. I know I always write that but 'tis true. (Ercolano is the Italian name for Herculaneum of Vesuvian fame/infamy.)

Flowers in a cup

Why doesn't anyone do this for me? This is what's going on: too much to do (looking for work is beyond difficult now); moving too slowly (strong coffee notwithstanding); & dial-up, dial-up, dial-up. Plus my bangs are so long that if wings, I could fly (sans caffeine), appear on Oprah, & not have to look for real work. Hey, I can dream.

(coffe art credit; my now-traditional bangs-in-crisis photograph via Italia Vogue scan, here)

Update at 7:05 EDT: Apologies to all who have tried to leave comments & have been spurned. It's not me, it's AIG! (kidding) Working on investigation here & over at Giulia Geranium. But must watch our President tonight....so I'll be back tomorrow a.m. with some answers. Ciao!

Golden-yellow ranunculus

Sort of lost my mind in the market & bought a bunch of golden yellows. Keep thinking but I didn't buy chub-inducing-stinky cheese. Or some such. Julie the gattina has (twice) dragged a few stems from the old Vietri pitcher & placed them on a bamboo tray. Flower arranging? Prey collecting (euwww)? Protest because she thinks they were purchased instead of her fancy schmancy natural cat food? These are forgiving flowers, so they haven't yet wilted in protest. It was difficult to choose amongst pink, white, orange, & the yellow. Might've chosen the red, actually, but the sole crimson bunch was wilted. A man nearby must've thought me mad...I noticed him watching my selection method. I held bunches like a hand of cards, switching them about, putting some back. I discard until yellow remains. Gin! I don't know why...but they make me happy (& Julie, too, in her own feline way).