I always find thought provoking images at a quietly elegant blog called STRAWBERIGE. She placed this triumvirate before her readers last week, Daphne Guinness in pose for photographer Oliver Zahm- in front of her own Damien Hirst created canvas. What more could one ask for? I did. Had her apartment been photographed? Then I remembered a video from the Guinness lovingSCALA REGIA that I had bookmarked-ah yes- VOGUE ITALIA- makes you want to be an Italian, No? They are always on the cusp of IT.
and just today- Guinness again-on the same. I beautiful portrait of her fashion majesty.
and again- Guinness- late in the day-when finally the much already touted ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST March 2011 issue arrived. Low in the middle of this issue written & produced by James Reginator, photographed by Thomas Loof and styled by Carolina Irving. Just what I would expect-brilliantly, beautifully, put together- Voila! behold the sophisticated apartment of Daphne Guinness. sometimes feminine, nostalgic, reflective- and of course- Chic.
No spoilers here-ever. As you well know it drives me crazy, get the issue-don''t get the Reader's Digest Condensed version-it is never the same.
the next barefoot cover I want to see is something like this- with maybe- a remake of the movie? could you imagine an actress today that could touch the incomparable AVA GARDNER?
NO?
No.
NO?
No. (but this is about what I might expect from Hollywood-Demi that is)
Kenneth Noland to many of us was best known as an wonderful abstract artist who's paintings hung in many outstanding interiors and museums around the world and punctuated the space they occupied with vibrancy and color. Mr Noland was also known in the design world as being married to Paige Rense the editor in chief of Architectural Digest Magazine. Naturally, it was not all unusual to see Nolands gracing the pages of the magazine...they lept off the page.
Kenneth Noland's 1958 work "Spread" at the Grey Art Gallery NYU... image courtesy The York Times.
Writing the things one reads- Telling the story, Explaining the story, Switching it up, Words moved about for a fresh take and new look- and then sometime just the story you read.-The story can not be touched.
It is just right this way.
Photograph by Hans Namuth
William Styron, a child of the South, of Virginia, a Pulitzer Prize winning writer, poet in prose. Some things are beautiful to return to- even within its dark shadows.
If the accident of birth caused you to spend most of your early life, as I did, on what is known as the Virginia historic peninsula, you were apt to grow up with a ponderous sense of the American past...Part of my spirit was always mysteriously drawn to the James River mansions. They spoke to me in a secret, exciting way that the other landmarks could never speak, and I still consider them among the state’s truly captivating attractions.
Westover and Brandon. Shirley and Carter’s Grove. There are other fine Colonial structures in the Tidewater, but these four remain the exemplars of the noble species of dwelling that the early planters built on the banks of the James, creating, from native brick and timber, likenesses of the country houses of England they had left behind, but in each case, out of some quirky genius, imparting to the whole an individuality that remains arrestingly American.
The mansions have of course undergone much restoration since the mid-18th century, when they were built. (William Byrd’s Westover, perhaps the most splendid of the group, was badly mutilated by fire during the Civil War.) But one of the remarkable things about these houses is the way they have escaped the look of having been prettified by the embalmer’s hand. Although they are linked in spirit by their obviously Georgian origins, part of the charm of each lies in its almost defiant distinctiveness—Shirley, with its absence of wings, having a lofty solidity, in contrast, say, to the dignified horizontal expansiveness of Brandon and its rectangular wings attached to the center by connecting passageways. Each is unique, and a surprise.
Brandon staircase
There are perhaps few habitations anywhere that ever so successfully fused aesthetic delightfulness with unabashed commerce. The plantation houses were really the headquarters for complex business enterprises. Their situation on the river happened not primarily because of the ingratiating view, but because the James was the means whereby each estate’s golden harvest of tobacco was shipped back to the insatiable pipe smokers and snuff dippers of England and the Continent. What strikes one, then, is that the homes—created by gentlemen for whom profit was a paramount concern—are so fastidious yet so sensuous in their elegance, so satisfying in terms of all those components that make up the nearly perfect human abode. And all of this took place on the breast of a raw and primitive continent whose often violent settlement began not many years before.
How easy the temptation must have been to erect something tacky and utilitarian and to make one’s getaway; the banks of the waterways of the earth have been littered by exploiters’ shameless eyesores. But Virginia planters like William Byrd and his fellow proprietors, entrepreneurial though they were, made up a rare breed whose sense of environment was subtle and demanding. We know from the records they left that they responded with passion to the music of Purcell and Lully, to the Eclogues and Georgics of Virgil; why should they not be determined that their surroundings be imbued with equal serenity and refinement?
Among other things, these fog-dampened Britons were plainly intoxicated with the flowering of Virginia’s lush and sun-drenched countryside. And so what impressed me as a boy, perhaps unconsciously, impresses me now with logic and force; the harmonious connection between the mansions and their natural surroundings, each of them seeming to grow like an essential ornament in a landscape of huge, hovering shade trees, boxwood-and-rose-scented gardens, and a sumptuous lawn undulating to the river’s edge. Two hundred and fifty years later this mingling of elements has a flowing integrity and authenticity. Also, humanity and wit.
Look for humanity and wit almost everywhere in one of the James River mansions. In the great downstairs hall, the visitor will see how two doors facing each other allowed guests to arrive from opposite directions: by way of a tree-lined carriage road or, for people coming by barge or boat, across the lawn from the bank of the river. In the solitude of that barely civilized wilderness, guests were welcome and fussed over, and they came incessantly. Isolation made hospitality more than a ritual: It was part of a hungry need for communion, and the splendidly paneled rooms that give off the main hall saw manic activity: dancing and reading aloud; parlor games; music played on spinet and mandolin and harpsichord; gossip, flirtation and seduction; card games; much drinking of local applejack and fine Bordeaux wine around fireplaces that were everywhere and fueled from inexhaustible sources of Tidewater timber. Early on, Virginia developed a serious cuisine. At tables in the big dining room, the food—usually supplied from outside cookhouses—was served to the household and to the endless stream of visitors in orgiastic plenty that still makes one marvel..One discordant presence was usually forgotten, or overlooked, even then. ..
As the present-day visitor looks out across the tidy beds of flowers bordered by boxwood and traversed by brick walls, his gaze may linger on the outbuildings (or the spot where they once stood), and they too will seem to fall symmetrically into place. These smaller buildings—servants’ quarters, cookhouse, tannery and smokehouse, carpenter’s shop, all decently contrived of honest and workmanlike construction—were, of course, the demesne of the black slaves, whose toil had been essential to the creation and success of the mansions, and continued to assure their perpetuation. The “people,” as they were so often called, had been generally treated with care and kindness, so it is understandable that the planters suffered vexation over their common plight and cursed heaven for their predicament. However, not knowing what else to do, they allowed the problem to pass into the hands of later generations, who resolved the matter in one of the most murderous wars ever fought. Meanwhile, the beautiful mansions endured, and still endure.
