Tag Archives: Resources

Off the Rack – Lee Stanton

I was delighted to see Los Angeles antique dealer, Lee Stanton’s, condo in the March issue of Elle Decor.  His shop courtyard became my home away from home one of the days I was there for Legends of La Cienega a couple of years ago. I was equally enchanted by Stanton’s warm and easy personal style and his aesthetic.
Distinctly masculine, he never dips to kitsch.  I was struck, as I walked slowly through his shop, how much his taste reminds me of Christopher Filley’s, one of my hometown favorites.

You can find more images from the Elle Decor feature on Stanton’s blog here.  Once you stop in, do click around.  He posts lovely pictures of his vignettes and thoughts on his travels around town, around the web and around the world.

Two images, top, Elle Decor, March 2015, styled by Robert Rufino, photography Bjorn Wallander.  Image bottom, Lee Stanton.

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail      rssrss


You know that I am a supporter of shopping local.  I am devoted to my favorite shops and shop owners.

But I have a confession to make.  I have a burgeoning crush on West Elm.

They opened on the Plaza last Fall and I didn’t go in right away. They had been out south a few years ago and when I saw the product there, I was so disappointed in the quality.

But I wandered in on a cold day in December and was delighted by the design.  Are they borrowing heavily from mid-century? Yes, but they are doing it well.

The lamps are heavy.  The furniture is steady and the drawers slide in and out with ease. The finishes are even and lovely.  Lids snap tightly and square.

The Clint Mini Task Lamp (top) was my gateway drug; he sits jaunty and lively on my living room bookshelves. Both the Kate Spade Saturday Globe Table Lamp and the Pillar Table Lamp have mental place marks while I hunt and gather; if I don’t find something soon, they may come to live with their cousin.  Looking for a home for a preserved puffer fish from Oracle yesterday, I found the perfect shadow box there.  The clever and charming Pencil Desk may be just the thing for the youngest boy’s very narrow space in his bedroom.  The Faux Shagreen Box now rests on my bedside table with my hand lotion, cuticle cream and lip balm tucked discreetly inside.  (They were such a bother before.)

I confess, I cannot help myself.

All images via West Elm, from which I received no compensation.  I don’t know why one picture is not centered.  I hate blogger so much.

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail      rssrss

American Girl

I’ve been back from Paris for a couple of days and I hate to admit that the jet lag keeps washing over me in waves.  It was a great trip and there are stories to tell, but I wanted to give a shout out to Baldwin Denim first thing.

I love jeans.  I grew up in jeans.  I live in jeans.  It makes more sense for me to buy better denim as I spend more time in it than anything else.  I have a pair of Baldwin Denim that makes people ask, “What jeans are those?” every time I have them on. I bought the black Rivingtons before I left and have worn them non-stop since.  They fit great, are super-flattering (as Baldwin is) and are as comfortable as leggings. Seriously.  It’s not a new model, but a new manufacturer and they are divine.  I was true-to-size, if that helps you at all with on-line ordering. (I don’t see black on the site, but they are in the stores, so give them a ring if that is what your wardrobe is missing.)

I’m wearing them now as I drink coffee and eat chocolate and try and get my life back in order.  Posts to follow.

As always, I was not compensated in any way for this endorsement.

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail      rssrss

Don’t Panic. Help is Near.

I ran into a friend at the grocery store last week and we traded stories of a very trying year as we stood by the apples. We were aware that we were in the way of other people and were polite, as midwesterners are, but mildly indifferent to their inconvenience.

As we parted by the check-out line I said, “My new mantra is, ‘Nothing bad is happening.” Which doesn’t always mean that something bad is not happening, but that it can always be managed.  Or out-waited.  I continued, “In fact, I just had that tattooed on the inside of my hip.” He had no time to reply as I wheeled into 10 Items or Less and he was bound for bigger things.

I will neither confirm nor deny if I have, indeed, gotten a tattoo on the inside of my hip, but getting a tattoo is not really the point.  Getting a tattoo is something that I have said that I would never, ever do.  I don’t mind tattoos.  Sometimes I think they are incredibly cool.  Remarkably sexy.  And there is always a story of inspiration or triumph or regret.  I do love people’s stories.  But I’d never wanted a tattoo for myself.

Then, in a year when I’ve done a number of things I thought I would never, ever do, the idea of getting a tattoo began to have some appeal.  I had a couple of ideas of what it would be.  The next hurtle was determining where I would put it.

And in a manner which is completely consistent with my penchant for doing something brave and my reticence for anyone knowing anything about it, I began to evaluate where I could put a tattoo that would never show, except to someone with whom I was intimate.  As I still wear a bikini (and yes, some of you have let me know that you think this is wildly inappropriate at my age; I don’t care) this didn’t leave a lot of real estate for ink.

The areas covered by bikini, while not large, are largely tender and largely affected by gravity.  I did not think putting it on my back was a good idea.  A tattoo would be for me; I would want to see it.  The spot just in the hollow of my left hip bone, smooth and tender and never tanned, seemed just right. And whether or not I let a very hirsute man shoot ink under my skin with a needle is not the point.  The point is, that at an age when some people think I should retire my bikini, I can decide for myself to get a tattoo, or be a bother at the grocery store, or see myself in a way that may make people uncomfortable and know that all of it can be managed.  Nothing bad is happening.

This all started as a calming voice in the ever-stress-inducing days leading up to this often-hateful holiday marketed as joy and fa-la-la.  Yes, the point of shipping has passed, but shipping should not be your point.  These images are from Oracle, Fine Curiousities in Crossroads.  All of their inventory is a product of natural death.  (My middle did say, “What is it with you and dead things?”) They articulate the skeletons in-house and they are remarkably beautiful.  Part of the shop’s mission is to be a resource for artists who use these elements in their work.  Most of my gifts have come from local merchants; Stuff, The Nelson, Hammerpress, Dolphin Frames, The Dime Store, Local Pig, Rainy Day Books, The General Store and Urban Provisions.  Shop local, wherever you are.  Embrace the madness. Talk to people; they tell good stories.  

Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestlinkedinmail      rssrss