killing moon

forgive me, i have (only just now) discovered nouvelle vague. i figure, for all this time, i must have been asleep. nostalgia revisited & reworked. oh. bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. i’m high. but if you do crave for the original sin, then don't hesitate to push your luck down here below.

charleston revisited

[statue in the garden]
they were high summer days, such as the ones we're living right now, when bell and i stayed in sussex, uk. in london we’d fallen prey to a thunder storm that flooded paddington tube station and the corridor in our hotel, just short of our own door. it was a dramatic build up indeed, towards visiting both virgina woolf’s and vanessa bell’s former dwellings in the southdowns.
in order to reach charleston farmhouse, bell and i had to accustom to the heat. we got lost a few times in the bends and twists of the swirling firle countryside, after mounting a ridiculously hot double deck. we got ourselves ludicrously chased by a macho men filled sloppy land rover, before finally reaching the farmhouse, via an unsignificant road sign dangling from a concrete post. it urged us to the left, past a few dilapidated barns, into the farmhouse grounds. Trust us for wanting to make a bit of an entrance.

what a bunch of!

firstly, foremostly. i am enchanted by everyone’s reactions to the snail’s pace aspect on the blanket project, that has kicked me with as much surprise as a bunny in the sky would. and that enthusiasm has got me going, you have gotta believe it. i spoke of an average of three squares a night? I’ve now upped my rhythm to a good six a night, which changes everything. loose counting reduces the wait on the end result by half, which is the best remedy against the dust and rubble that temporarily surrounds me in the new, old house. i am thinking up umpteen ways to creatively and tempatively display the progress, from week to week, from fortnight to fortnight, depending. today i felt like playing about a bit with balance.

time at sea

26/07/10 - ambling along the water line and wading through salty puddles, desperately seeking (and finding) conic snail shells of the tiniest sort, laughing at the silly sea gulls’ sand parade and wondering at their grace on the up-current, nipping hibiscus and mint iced tea and chilled white wine in breezy side walk cafés.

talking and whispering with sis-in-law, people watching, forgetting and remembering home, falling silent before breaking out in laughter. trying to fall asleep through the perpetual ring-a-ling of the passing trolley underneath the windows of the summer apartment, enjoying a lazy breakfast on paper thin toasted bread, three kinds of hummus and strong black coffee (what a combo!)…

… is how a two day break at the belgian seaside proofs to feel like a full blown holiday. back at my desk in brussels come the morrow, knocking down the partition ceiling of the new, old house come tomorrow night. it’s a hell of a mixed holiday season down here…. but what a wale of a time we are having. (walk the walk with us here) ♥

gimme, gimme...

... gimme a light after midnight (abba version). in the past, when i found a light number like this a-one, it either didn’t work, wavered or creaked when flexed. or it was way too small. creme (pixar!) beauty as shown here crept up on me, as i was inspecting an ersatz vintage blender. the blender looked pretty, but would not do. then, all of a sudden the humongous table reading lamp next to it rose to the occasion. i saw her, grabbed her and checked out, quick as a wink! she shines, does she ever. and what’s really enjoyable, she stretches and plies effortlessly, smoothly and silently. a true star.

scrutinized by the said light, sits this old’n’tattered light weight serving tray, which i fell in love with for its graphic design. they talk, sometimes, inanimate objects. sophie’s treasure-house here.

after blossfeldt

[image : soulcatcherstudio]
i have been in awe with the work of karl blossfeldt, ever since i leafed through a biography in my auntie’s back garden. i’m mentioning the exact location, because i do associate his work with the place where i initially found myself immersed. in the garden i was surrounded by plants, the focal point of the former iron caster/sculptor. and is his work for real?

[image : christopher wahren fine photographs]
thoughts on his minute photography started me off wondering what it is i like so much about these images. it is the stark, neutral back grounds, for sure. it is the sharp precision of the detailed images. it’s the philosophy behind the subject : nature’s standing inspiration for modernist architecture (i find). it’s the fact that blossfeldt considered himself an amateur photographer throughout his life. some gusto!
[image on the left : fine rare prints]
after the wondering, the carving happened quickly. since i am not in possession of the best camera to scrutinize the miniature world that surrounds us, i had to come up with something else to unleash my built up eagerness to perform. putting the surgeon’s knife to the test, into smooth eraser density e.g., came in as a close second. now i just have to dream up places and space for printing. i’ve got a summer ahead of me to do that (after kick-off renovation, cooking, chores and blogging is done). huh?

further browsing: please visit the GERMAN ARCHIVES for blossfeldt's appropriately called WUNTERGARDEN DER NATUR (wonderous garden of nature), for inspiration on what we do not necessarily notice at first glance, and IS. always.

the blanket story

one quart down, three quarts to go. i have passed the magic number ‘one hundred’, but like i said before, some 444 squares would make a sort of regular sized blanket. three squares a night remains the average. starting out this project, i didn’t realise this slow rate was going to be the way. taking in account our house is being done up as we speak, and cramp (also in the fingerbones) is already a daily routine, it will get finished by… ooohh. let’s perhaps not stick too timely a date on it. although, of course, i dare to dream. moreover, last night was concoction time : i can do this job from the inside out! i can actually make this project into an ever growing blanket and add another outer border of squares anytime i’m good and ready. in an unexpected way, that’s me sorted. and a blanket-to-be. MUCH more crafting on kootoyoo!

corner view ≈ me

me. myself. i. [not you.] moi.
i find myself seriously blocked here. so, in order to perform on jane's suggestion anyway, i’m slipping in a quick image that shows me, but not, at the stage where i am at. just so that over a period of time, perhaps, me too, can say. oh, eik. that’s where i was at, on wednesday the 21rst, 2010? or else, i might just blink in a year’s time and have a jolly good laugh.☻ can’t hardly wait.
all the other ♥ me’s ♥ are gathering at jane’s. what a party!

charleston frame of mind

... the rest of the week, barr a few posts, it’s over to vanessa, virginia, susan and me. why don't you join? and ‘later! ♥

lo and behold

the inner self needs to be fed. there’s quite a bit of images accumulating in my virtual food box, so i’m unleashing them in case you want to whip up something quickie. like we seem to be doing a lot of these days. i’m thinking, no explanatory pages needed, unless you were wondering. then just give us a shout.

double bill goat’s cheese on rye, any goat’s cheese you can get your hands on, spruced up with a few green olives from verona, herbs of your choice and balsamico reduction (from a bottle, you know!)

salad, cheese and asparagus on swedish toast, balsamico again! i’m a sucker.

tuna pasta, served on FLOW (dutch magazine). any leftovers marry well in this pasta salad. don’t forget the tuna. (i added raw red onion slices for extra kick.) oh, and plenty of black pepper, and perhaps a pinch of cayenne.
en smakelijk

charmed, i'm sure {renov#3}

19/07/10 - perhaps it is time to get you acquainted with the premises as they were / are (to) be ? after a few months of planning, anticipating and grafting, things already look a whole lot different.

my dreams alter every day, son is enthusiastically adapting (as long as i don’t pry), summer {work} holidays are quickly moving to an end and the builders slowly climb into a fall work scheme.

chuffed to say that plans are definitely moving along. all of this means fewer homey projects, though i crave after the distraction. a lot!

bare with me, the path is long and winding, the road is windy from time to time, but we will most definitely shout to the top. somewhere around new year!

flying high

i didn’t notice her straight away. she hung right in front of the bargain shop window , a bit like a straight curtain, i never made the assumption. then that languishing face threw me. only when i got home, i noticed the tigress. talking ‘bout stages of noticing, and did the needler really endlessly repeat that orange-white-black colour code? i'll have to cut the lady up, of course, though bell may protest. the reason why i almost missed the gobelin lady, was this fabric.

i think it’s safe to call the colour poisonous. is the rough quality evoking something irresistible from the past, like quickly drying off the body after a skinny dip? is it rattling a bone or two, tickling my fancy perhaps? i don’t know, but something good will come of this, i'm sure.

last but not least and for your eyes only, i’m throwing into the bargain a wonderful montgolfiere, or rather a handsome little fellow of an exhibition booklet, from the late seventies, of which i'm showing off the cover here. i’ve long been absolutely scared of hot air balloons, until one flew over so close i got over it, there and then. would love to see the world from up there, but ha, dearies! the challenge….

.... anyone ever been ballooning? How was that? [more treasure hunting on library adventures]

like beatles {renov#2}

18/07/10 - it’s a thing to never ever forget. close to three tons of stone debris, carefully loaded and dumped in the recycle park, in exactly four deliveries.

no summer sales to mention for this ol’ girl, but getting shot of rubble these days sounds like a true bargain to me.

l.&j. were absolute angels, standing by, watching over, grafting hard, down and deep. digging and delivering. car and towing hook at hand.

i admit, after a hard day’s night, we crashed down too, and shamelessly emptied out a few cans of belgian amber liquid, philosophies included.

will not linger on any details, but the very happening… it was ours! even a rising moon at barely 4 pm shone down silently. thank you’s!

beast(l)ie times and get funky!

in our days, we hung about in the local youth club. i guess what i’m trying to say is we ruled, else we made ourselves believe we did, any youth would at some point. one sunny sunday afternoon, nothing to do, nowhere to go, we put on license to ill, very appropriate for the stage we were (stuck) at. rural flemish countryside, beastie boys blaring from giant speakers… i remember putting on side a, followed by side b (yes, dearies, gramophone!), plain sailing, no stopping, nothing short of they shoot horses… i know! i’m a little amazed myself. if bell were here, she’d frown. she’d smile. she’d say, macho girl! and i would smile back. innocently. and put on hey ladies! instead, of which the original score has been emi-banned in our country (i can’t believe this – i can’t offer you *f*u*n*!). i think we’re being seriously sabotaged!

mirror, mirror

our visit to the museum roger raveel started with an error on my behalf. i had the names of two flemish artists confused, and for some reason i thought we were seeing frans masereel. wrong so indeed. i adjusted to the heat and the unexpected presence of colour in a jiffy and did enjoy the unmistakable postmodern vision of the famous flemish painter, who is still living around the corner from his very own museum. he is 89 these days, and apparently still at it. the mirror symbolism in raveel’s work, the way he un-identifies identity (through stripes and squares, e.g. - not shown here) is quite daring. and stunning. the modern museum building sits intriguingly well at the very core of a tiny rustic village. worth a visit. see more here.

first blood {renov#1}

14/07/10 - finally ! it has started, the big renov-of-a-lifetime. not the first, definitely the one. nephew s. on holidays this week and he was up for it. i could so much do with his virile take on things!

look at him go. and so it also happened on day # 1 i got myself christened.

it hurts only a bit, whereas another wound is actually throbbing, i hope with good character. floors, etc. torn out on ground and first floor. concrete garden path demolished.

piles stacked (once a librarian, always ---), waiting for deportation on saturday. good friends and kins to lend a helping hand. we take our time, and have fun along the way. apart from ALL the joints screaming for relaxation, that is. oh, eik!

(garden path still existing here!).
oh, and la-di-da! i own a shed....

♥ to leaf back on the renovation trail,
click on renovation [at] 64,
right hand side ♥

all the love


i know! they all seem to tumble over one another for a little attention, after i carefully selected a few chosen ones for tonight’s photoshoot. some serious pushing and shoving went on. the vintage scarf (a little inconspicuous here, previous post shows it off though) was welcoming the vintage red leather glasses case, which then gladly hosted the vintage matching sunglasses. what can i say? Those two instantly cliqued. at the very end of all these shenanigans i couldn’t resist to slip a meaningful word into the glasses case’s mouth. well said, casey! over to you’s.

summer thunderstorm

paying-it-forward pledge and play

♥ i will make one handmade gift for the first three interested people who comment on this post
♥ i have 365 days to do it in
♥ what it will be and when it will arrive is a total surprise!
♥ you participate as well
♥ and.... you have a blog

♥ curious about what i'll be cooking up?
me too.
but hey?
i'd give it a go... ♥

street corner parlando

it is intriguing to pick up on a telephone conversation, when not directed your way. since the caller is ever so slightly pushing up the volume on the street corner where i pass, i actually do hear every word he’s saying. while transfering an armload of grocery from one hand to the other, careful not to trip over any toes, his or my own, i get past him. the man is smartly dressed in white cotton armor, supposedly guarding him against the hot summer heat, sunglasses in place, a sweater draped loosely over his shoulders. he’s sweetly rocking his torso, mildly plowing non existent air.
while i am doing my best to ignore his conversation, i hear him darting towards smooth talking ‘all white, baby, all white!’, which fits his pale posture anyway. until i realise he’s tirelessly cooing someone on the other end of his cell, as in alright, alright! i smile fondly over the gentle tongue twist. our local men get lyrically anglo-saxon at times. all they need is a little bit of heat.

your next door neighbour

the best comedy, i find, knocks unexpected at your door and is about the life everybody next door is living. have you met miranda? i didn’t give her the light of day the first time around, i don' know why. but she’s on BBC2 repeat these days, and she talks and jumps me right into watching; awaiting her arrival, even. so if you’re lucky, depending on where you find yourself located, she might pop in at yours too. if not, there’s always the internet, where you can rummage about a bit. but miranda, well, one never gets enough of trivial things for the single woman going wrong, right? enjoy these two excerpts.

newly hooked

Contrary to the ardent crocheting that is also going on, i turned to drawing for the night. and then had a dream about it, naturally. This illustration is part of a project called THE SIMONETTA EXPERIMENTS, based upon a series of italian girly books from the seventies, of which my favourite one is ROBI AND THE ETRUSCAN NECKLACE (pictured above). I am not cladding the ROBI, but vintagely buying all the others and doing them up. The book I’m working in at the moment is called SIMONETTA, hence the title of the project.

This subtitle page was called LONELY, so I can only guess that that is the reason why I drew a barren tree in high summer...

corner view ≈ saturday

a touch of sobriety, and yes! saturday is a stayer. it throws about its lovely weight. when i was a child it was because mum did the washing and the house smelled of soap, and i didn’t have to do a thing. just lounge, before lounging got even invented. it was most definitely a sleep-in day, much more so than sunday, because then the library was calling. saturday had a tinge of anticipation to a good night’s outing, while sundays were rather morose (and sometimes hungover, i have to admit). today i find i’m still vastly in love with saturday, if only for the slight pull toward the pledge of another lazy sunday. and anyway, on sunday it’s only six days to go before saturday comes along. again. [more saturdays you can think of at spain daily!]

in debt

imagine a skillful woman embroidering words into time. imagine a young poet rhyming words into delicate stanzas. whether now, or as good as two centuries ago, artists will strive or starve. they will swoon in life, or only posthumously be recognized. fanny brawne loved her john, and facing up to all enemies she did, while KEATS fought for his life, and lost out. even if poetry proofs to be ‘a strain to work out’, it’s worth to follow the butterflies. JANE CAMPION puts yet again her vision to the test and offers us BRIGHT STAR.

‘quiet, but binding’. please, please, please, do not miss. the world can do with a little bit of it. everyday.[this beauty also pays off pretty well in different, impressive versions throughout the film.]

none too fussy...

... and fizzy apple juice goes together well with fresh fruits, white wine, a line of white rhum, no sugar. quick stir, overnight chill.
still a little bit left! come and join me?

spinning yarn

here is the story about my wool. like so many of you hunters, i rummage about for yarn. wool and cotton will do, mohair is a sent from heavens above. different yarn for different projects, goes without saying. i’m none too fussy, since i’m mainly crocheting for the house. quality is scrutinized, but not imperatively ‘the best there is on the market’, since second hand is what we’re talking about. but oh, how happy i am when i pull discarded wool from trunks, baskets and boxes. and funnily enough, i do not mind when the yarn i buy is tangled. disentangling is just another meditation exercise. unless i lose my patience that is. yarn has been know to fall to vertical classification in my house. a dead end is dead end, no less. but until then though… more vintage finds.