My personal trainer and I have a running joke, she's like, don't your pants fit differently? And I'm like, how would I know?
[ABS Cowl-neck satin gown, $365 at Saks Fifth Avenue]
Windowlicker - from the French for window shopping: faire du lèche-vitrine - is more or less on summer hiatus, and will return in the fall.
Left work and headed home, stopped to see a friend whose birthday was yesterday. I gave him Light Years and Last Night, which I had tucked under my arm, puckered by the evening heat. Last year I gave him Barney Rosset's copy of The Devil in the Flesh. It wasn't too timely, though; I give gifts without an occasion (like the framed Muriel Spark photo I sent Maud). He once brought me a small box from Nice that is one of the few things I keep on my nightstand. Our easy talk turned to one night, before I left for two months, two summers ago, how he couldn't meet me to say goodbye, how sad we both were... and then I said, Baby, it worked out. We're here now. Tomorrow night we'll go out somewhere perfect, somewhere Salter-esque. French, he said. Or a hotel bar.
[Wyatt rose dress, less than $100 at Bluefly]
Windowlicker - from the French for window shopping: faire du lèche-vitrine - is more or less on summer hiatus, and will return in the fall.
Came out to the Hamptons last week for a day or two, which has turned into an indefinite stay... have realized that all stress of the modern world can be ameliorated with a one-way ticket to a beautiful place. I avoided this part of New York for years, because I didn't like "the scene." We don't go out much, though. Sunrise and sunset at the beach, days with friends, dinner parties, quiet, star-filled nights, crickets, a nightingale. That's the scene.
This morning I was thinking about spending more time in the country, and what I might do there, and I was like, archery, maybe? But then I thought, what would be the point of developing a skill with no use whatsoever in the modern world?
Flash-forward, late afternoon, sitting on my bed eating white peaches and Swedish cheddar, flipping through Harper's Bazaar (UK) September issue, when I came across an article about the scene in Rome around the time of La Dolce Vita. Of course, I was instantly rapt, as it was quite the influence over my trip last fall (an email sent back to the States, in reply to a long what-are-you-up-to: "Ciao from Roma, daddy, I'm living it up on Via Veneto like a little movie star!"). And, of course, I was. But some of those stories are gems for another day, perhaps.
Today it's the first graf in the new Harper's that's got me: "Rome's Via Veneto, the early hours of 20 October 1960: 31-year-old Milanese photographer Felice Quinto has had a productive night, having caught actress Anita Ekberg in a clinch with a married film producer. Hopping onto his Moto Guzzi motorbike, he races over to Ekberg's villa. As he approaches, a slew of arrows whooshes down from a window, one glancing his hand. Ekberg then emerges, barefoot, in a black strapless gown, bow in hand."
And that, doves, is how it's done.
I don't hold on to people, or much, seldom. I live in a very small apartment. I work, at a subsistence level, to maintain a lifestyle that is spurred by curiosity and creativity more than any kind of acquisitiveness. Sure, I like beauty, but hardly behold it without regarding its fleeting nature in equal measure to its luminosity. What then do I want from this life? A chance to be kind, I suppose, and to experience kindness in return. I keep myself at a distance most of the time, more content to observe or direct than truly participate. It is safe, this bone-deep bred solitude. Every now and then, though, desire appears and rushes through me like a force, reminding me what is well and truly meant by being alive. I have never ached to possess anything like I want this cloak, now.
[Christian Wijnants, at Project No. 8]
Windowlicker - from the French for window shopping: faire du lèche-vitrine - is more or less on summer hiatus, and will return in the fall.
Image: Ritz-Carlton Berlin, from Ritz-Carlton magazine
What I want, above all else, is the last two weeks of summer off.
[Impossible, priceless]
Windowlicker - from the French for window shopping: faire du lèche-vitrine - is more or less on summer hiatus, and will return in the fall.
Lately I've been doing dinner at eight and it's great. On vacation, I like to nap from three to five, have some tea and relax for an hour, dress at six, and then, let the evening unfurl. On a regular (never ordinary) day, perhaps one of those things if I'm lucky.
This morning, I drank coffee and read Baudelaire's "Invitation to the Voyage" –– "See on these canals those sleeping boats whose mood is vagabond; it’s to satisfy your least desire that they come from the world’s end." And that's where our story begins...
A funny fact about me: I feel the sense of familiarity most people feel about family photographs when I look at old coins. I've always loved Catullus for many reasons, one of which being that I imagine loathsome, wretchedly loved Lesbia and I share a nose.
