Splatter in Eddie Ross’s window at Bloomingdale’s.
And local designer, Ann Egan’s, kitchen in the December/January issue of Spaces.
I can’t help wondering what it would like like with the “Miro” pattern applied tone-on-tone
by Roy Hamilton.
Images from top, Elle Decor, February 2000, photography by Fernando Bengoechea, via the Peak of Chic, Hadley’s Connecticut home from Albert Hadley, The Story of America’s Preeminent Interior Designer by Adam Lewis, photography by Fernando Bengoechea; Brodsky’s apartment, Elle Decor, March 2010, photography by William Waldron; Bloomingdale’s window via Eddie Ross; Egan’s kitchen, Spaces, December/January 2009/10, photography by Aaron Leimkuehler; Hadley lamps from Christopher Spitzmiller; last image, my own.
I was away last week which led to some wonky posting and comment moderation. Forgive me. I hate to give the internet a heads-up when Mr. Blandings and I are away and the boys are home. Upon returning from sunny climes I found they had conned the babysitter into fixing their lunches (they were supposed to be “hot lunch”) letting them eat all their Valentine candy in one sitting and not bathing the entire time we were gone. Five days. “They didn’t really want to,” the explanation. The oldest did shower after basketball, both practice and games, which was oddly reassuring. In addition, the youngest claimed we were “out” of Pop Tarts so a newly opened box greeted me from the pantry. Everyone agreed they were perfect angels. Why wouldn’t they be?
And, yesterday, I woke up with a cold. Not the flu, not a fever, nothing dramatic, just a garden variety cold.
So, today, no post, but I need a little help. I’ve received sporadic emails that some, though not all, readers who receive the email subscription of Mrs. Blandings are having trouble with jumbled text and pictures. I have done a little tweaking to see if I can fix it, as Google provides absolutely no support for either blogger or feedburner. Do let me know if it is better today.
The image, above, is Cecil Beaton for Vogue using a Jackson Pollock as a backdrop. I can’t begin to remember where I found it, but it is all over the internet . It seemed mildly on theme. If there ever is such a thing here.
I wish I looked as chic as she; I more closely resemble the chaos behind.
I figure since Emily & Mr. EEE spent their honeymoon amid tropical breezes, when it’s time for their first long weekend out of town, they’ll want a change of scenery. And pace. What could be better for that than a stay at Minnesota’s Naniboujou Lodge, a secluded Art Deco gem hidden away on the shores of Lake Superior? Pine-scented breezes, sparkling blue skies, clean & cold water surround the historic lodge itself, opened as an exclusive private club a scant three months before the market crash of 1929. Inside, the décor is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before: a jazzy cocktail of Native American ornament mixed with the rustic architecture of the great camps of the Adirondacks, all garnished with a brilliant (& woozy) 1920s palette. I don’t know what was in the illicit hooch that the designers of this place were drinking—illicit because the country was officially “dry” at the time–but it must have mighty powerful stuff, because someone clearly conjured up the Great Spirit of Sonia Delaunay.
So, what’s to do at Naniboujou? Well, let’s talk about golf. If Emily & her new husband love a challenging 18-hole course, well, they’re out of luck. There’s no golf course. Tennis? Forget it. Pool? Nope. Cute toddlers squealing with delight at big-headed cartoon characters from the movies & TV? Wrong place. In fact, the rooms don’t even have TVs–or phones, so there’s no internet. When the Ramey family that’s run Naniboujou Lodge for twenty years calls the place a getaway, they mean AWAY. But you can eat in the beautiful dining room, you can talk, you can walk in the woods, you can sit on the shore & watch the line where the sky meets the water, then you can go back to your room and, um…nap. Basically, a stay at Naniboujou is as close to time travel as you’ll ever get–a vacation as our well-off grandparents might have known it eighty years ago–which is exactly why I like it. I hope the happy couple will like it, too.
P.S. I’m hoping someone else will give the happy couple a cool Art Deco travel bar, with room for a few bottles, chunky crystal cocktail glasses & some sterling silver olive picks, because they’ll need it. The place is still dry. How authentic can you get?