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Monday Monday

I just wanted to say a big squeaky THANK YOU for all of your kind comments regarding my pregnant bedresty stuff. Reading some of your sweet words may have brought genuine tears to my eye — like real live water rolling down my face — but if asked in a court of law I will deny that sissified behavior. DENY. Because I have a rough and tumble image to maintain.

Let’s get down to business. World of Interiors — it’s so big it can’t be corralled into, say, County of Interiors. Or even Nation of Interiors. Honestly, I think perhaps they could have gone with Solar System of Interiors, tagline: “as seen in the Hubble Telescope.” They certainly have enough superstar photography to form their very own constellation. Not to mention the intergalactic scope of decor they feature.

Do I spy the makings of the coolest boys’ room ever?

Team Multiple Oriental on steroids!

Old school tuberculosis sanatorium or incredible dining room?

I love the scale/pattern contrast of floors and wallpaper.

The light touch with photoshop is so refreshing — all the cracked and peeling plaster is left to charm

your pants off… And into bed.

Now, if you’re bored please go see my front room up on Remodelista.

Apparently Dark Harbor is the color du jour.

Thanks again, Sanders!

Oh, and I’m also about to pin a bunch of these to my pinterest like a narcissistic  ass.

Come join the fun and feed my ego!

 

 

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Benched… in Fantasy Land

Sorry for the light posts — I had a bit of a medical scare, but everything’s a-ok. In the meantime I’m on a short furlough, a bedresty plan of (in)action that involves very little save slacking. Lots of slacking. Anyhow, I really wish I were laid up somewhere fancier. A place where they gave facials and massages would be nice, but I’d bypass even that to stay here:

Chateau de la Goujeonnerie, a place so magical it’s staffed by unicorns. UNICORNS.

Sure it’s a little princessy, but I deserve the best… says I.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just blinded by the bling, but I imagine myself having fabulous conversations with mustachioed gentlemen in waistcoats and ladies with fabulous clothes who don’t need hairspray and makeup to look good.

Then I would paw all the priceless antiques and finger the lacquered lamps before I retired to bed (which is where I was supposed to be all along… shhhhhhh).

That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.

Later, buds. Gotta get busy reading bad books and watching terrible tv.

Be well.

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Dylan Thomas — the Photographer, Not the Poet

For well over a year I’ve been nursing a crush on 70s design stars like Milo Baughman, Willy Rizzo, and Pierre Cardin, but I think the coke party may be over. Well, sort of. I can’t just quit burl and chrome and brass and glass cold turkey, but I think it may be time to start mixing it up. Mixing with what, I have no idea, but recently I’ve been trying to broaden my horizons and garner inspiration from some unlikely sources. Enter Dylan Thomas, protege of famous royal photographer, Lord Snowdon.

Thomas has photographed everything from the home of fashion design team Preen to old money estates for World of Interiors, all in his signature moody, low contrast style.

It’s all a wee bit frenchfied and don’t worry — I’m not going to go cat lady collector on you, but I am loving crazy fringe on pretty much anything, so that gets an instant pass from me. I also appreciate the mutedness of these spaces, the way almost nothing “pops.” It looks expensive.

And it would probably look even better with my gleaming 70s Pace chrome and glass waterfall coffee table sitting pretty right in the middle of all that tattered history.

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