New Year Resolution

About 35 years ago, I made a few Resolutions because, y'know, in the US of A, that's what we do.  Not that my immigrant family did, but y'know, everyone else.  Of course, I promptly forgot them and when I did remember them, promptly ignored them.  And of course, I don't recall what those Resolutions were.

But this year, I do have a resolution.  No 's.'  Resolution.  Just one:

I will write more.

The reason I've been writing less are varied:

1. I've slowed down on the passionate issues that had been percolating in my heart these many years.  Having dumped my varied and sundry thoughts here on blackbelt oma, this very blog has, in a way, lead to its own demise.  
2. I've been putting whatever little writing energy I had into being a contributor at my friend's blog, All Things Chic.  In my twenties, I was fabulously fascinated by fashion and all things worldly.  (Including men, but that's another post!)  I knew all the designers and even supermodels.  I knew the histories and traits of the luxury goods lines.  Having grown up in a little Appalachian city, I drank that stuff up like a Bedouin.  I think growing up in a post-industrial (Conrail) city of rusty rail cars, suffering the not-so-slow death of downtown and the onslaught of strip malls, I longed for beauty and design, which I found in these material goods.   I am no longer very interested in or invested in fashion, but continue to care deeply about design.  I wouldn't be telling the whole truth if I didn't say I have fun shopping and coming up with outfits.  I've written some posts I'm really proud of, in the contribution to society catagory, but, now that my friend Jo-Lynne won't be a part of All Things Chic, I'm going to hang-up my Contributor status so I can divert my energy to this blog.  However, don't be surprised if you see me as a guest blogger on her Musings site!
3. I've started an online thrift store on etsy called gogo thrift with my besty (link also at right.)  It's not going to make us into Steve  Bezos but it'll give us some "mad money."
4. Facebook.  Aaah Facebook.  I love you and I hate you.  Need I say more?

So, for all of my hundreds of followers (ahem) be on the lookout for a resurgence of brain dumps, here at blackbelt oma, by blackbelt oma.

Oh okay.  I'm busted.  I've said this before.  But THIS time, I mean it!

Spring

I know I'm the serious sort, but I needed Spring in my blog.  Some Happy.  Do you think it's too cheery??  I mean, I wouldn't want people to think I was happy or anything. HA!

I have some posts in my head.  I just quit my job so I have oodles of time [and energy] to write.

Do you know about my other gigs?

All Things Chic
and
Eat Local Philly.

Both by my friend Jo-Lynne.  Check out her Spring.

See you soon!!

FaShun

I cringe when I hear "Asian inspired."  I cringe almost as much if I hear "Tribal inspired." There aren't a lot of people who understand the word "inspired" in a true design sense.  And when they are ignorant enough to use terms like "Asian" or "Tribal," or Heaven forbid "Ethnic,"  I know my bp is going to shoot through my designer chapeau. 

When I was in grad school, laying over the drafting table with mechanical pen in hand trying not to smudge the line (the computers in the CAD lab for non-designy geeks,) there was a term coined by my favorite professor:  Put-a-tecture.  It's the designer who didn't understand the underlying structure, theory or concept of a certain style or period of architecture.  Instead, the poor student would browse through architecture fashion magazines and pick out pieces of buildings he liked and "put-a" here and "put-a" there on his -tecture.

Fashion design can be like that.  Take the shiny, cheap silk, embroidered with overused icons - storks, pagodas or Heaven forbid, Geisha - and just make it into something "western," and Voila!  (If I can mix cultures here) there you have some "Asian inspired."  Or, here's something unfortunate from no less of a fashion house than Dior:

All he forgot was the coolie hat.  This is from 2008, not 1988.  Let's do some Amish Shunning of that.

And which part of the 17 MILLION SQUARE MILES of the Asian continent are we talking about?  Hmmmm?

So imagine my surprise, let's make that joyous, ecstatic surprise, when I saw the Spring 2011 collection by Carolina Herrara.  She didn't insult with "Asian" inspired.  It's Korean inspired.  Here's the inspiration:

And here, Carolina Herrara is just flat out phenomenally "inspired:"

I have to say she is not the first one to draw on Korea.  Korean designers have been doing it for awhile.  (The problem with this one, right, is that it may look beautiful to some, but those of us familiar with Korea see something too literal.  Those "gowns" look just like the traditional skirts - but without the tops that go with them, so they look slightly obscene to me!)

Carolina Herrera is the first master designer of international fame to do it and really get it SPOT ON.  Thank you, Cah-roleeena!!  MWAH!

Come Over!

I know you've been cooped up for a couple of days, so I thought you'd want to come over. My husband - he has a green thumb - and I love that we keep the Poinsettias going well into Spring, and that it's the first thing you see when you enter our foyer.

Come on in.  Oh, yes, the shelves. Everyone comments on them.  They're really not as high as you'd think - it's a bit of an optical illusion.

Up there? That's my mom from her college days. I look more like my dad but I certainly have her features, too.

Do you need the rest room? Sure.  It's right down the hall here. We hardly touched this room except for the new mirror and the framed pieces. We like it in that retro way:

I thought you might want to see our family room while we're here.  We put in a new opening from the kitchen so we have sort of a suite.  This is our "put up your feet room."  The quilt? It's from Dave's Mennonite side of the family.  Isn't it gorgeous?   Oh, I love that lamp, too!  I think it is one of my best yard sale finds!










Come on out and let's sit in the living room.

Yes, that's Boo as a baby. Pictures of our families.  Except the Modigliani of course! The set of prints in the dining room - we got in Korea.  We love it:  a country village, a court procession, a landscape.

Yes, the carpet is like a Klimt painting. We love his work. Even though everyone knows him for his figures - who hasn't seen The Kiss, right? - but what we we really like are his landscapes. They are amazing.


I'd show you the kitchen but it's a mess.  You can see it another time, OK?  We'll just keep those pocket doors tightly closed!!

Why don't we sit awhile?

 

Thanks for visiting!  Let's get together again, soon?  OK?  Hope the next storm won't be too bad!

Old Friends

I love gadgets.  I don't mean iGadgets.  I mean basic office gadgets from thirty years ago.

I love me a sturdy pencil sharpener, a strong reliable stapler, sharp Fiskar scissors, a sleek tape dispenser.  The first, most basic business contact organizer - the Rolodex.  The almost biting sharpness of a German stainless steel compass.  Lead holders, leads of all grades, 10 different colors, lead pointers.  Those infuriating Rapid-o-graphs.  Graph paper, rolls of canary or buff, vellum, mylar.  Erasers for 20 different applications.  An electric eraser.  An. Electric. Eraser.

The list goes on.  But I loved all those gadgets.  The directness of them.  No translations through 1s and 0s.  No moving a mouse that moves a cursor that shows a line.  No Cntrl or Alt anything.  You drew directly.  Felt the weight of each piece in your hands, the edges against your fingers.  Heard it slide across your table. The leads were sharpened, then flattened to a sharp angle on a sandpaper pad so the vertical lines of each letter would be sharp as a knife slice; the horizontals sturdy like concrete slabs.  Our lettering was a source of pride.

Of course now, the main tactile experience of the architect is a mouse.  Squeak.

I recently acquired this pencil sharpener. I'm sure it wouldn't fit into anybody's briefcase.  It was made to sit, like furniture, on your desk next to your drafting table in your office.  I couldn't confirm that it worked, but I knew it would.  They were built to last.  The motor sounds like a large ride-on mower.  Probably has the same horse power.

Just today, I found this stapler, another piece of furniture that knew nothing of branch offices or mergers or international travel.  It probably weighs 3 pounds.  And yes, it works. Of course.

When I saw these old friends at a rummage sale and thrift store, respectively, it was like reminiscing about an old love.

I think I need a drink.

The Kitchen Sink

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Washed, wiped, shoved and scrubbed. Like all my posts.

Kitchen

I'm not sure why I'm doing this. Except that I haven't been able to squeeze out any of the octillion things I've had on my mind. (Octillion. It's Boo's favorite number right now.) And cuz Lora did it. And I copied. Except I'm not going to show you my whole kitchen. Dishes in the sink and pans on the counter and all.


I love my kitchen phone. Original Trimline 80's vintage see-through phone. It actually has a little round bell and hammer that strikes it and makes a real bell noise, instead of a electronic recording of a bell. It lights up too, when a call comes in.









My every day dishes. Mostly.
















My "friends coming over" dishes. Mostly.






















I used to collect vintage vases and such. I don't anymore but I like them because they remind me of me back then.









My spices. A little bit of everything. But not too high up where I can't reach.

Black nor White

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Black and White.

A friend wishes all things were objective. I'm not sure what her brief facebook comment was about, but it might have something to do with wanting things to be either/or. Black or white. Her friend then commented:

". . . all human beings want a clear goal to work toward not some mushy middle ground that you have no way of knowing if you have achieved! Aren't we blessed to have a God who has a clear plan for us and reveals it to us!"

Indeed!

Objective. Clear. Black. White.

If you've gone to a paint store to get a can of white - whoooa! not so easy, right? If you've ever tried to wear a black shirt with black pants, you quickly realize the blacks don't match. How can that be?? White is white; black is black. Isn't it?

Pearl White
Luminescent White
Antique White
Pure White
White Flour
Rice paper
Snow bound

Toucan Black
Baby Seal Black
Space Black
Jet Black
Black Iron
Black Bean
Night Black

Is God the only One who can truly be and see Black and White? Perhaps we human beings, with all our failings and baggage and self-centeredness can really only see black and white from a distance, and easily call it such. But as we approach the ends of objectiveness, can we really be so clear and simple and finite as we think?

If we got in the sparkling light of pure white, would we know we were fully immersed? Or if we were enveloped in a night darker than black, would we know we were fully enclosed? Can only the Ultimate Being speak "Black" and know the richness and fullness of it? Can only the Great Amen know White in its pure, final light? We are to reach for Black because there is a Black. We are to seek White because there is White.
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I contend that all the colors in between are not a justification for Relativism, because indeed, there is a Black and there is a White. If we choose to say we want black or white, are we missing all the beauty in between? Are black and white goals that we look to while on our path of sanctification? Does God give us this prismatic refractory to show us the complexities and fullness of his Infinite character?

Zen Cast

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It's the beauty that moves me.


What you may see is cold. Boring. Even, dull. What you sense might be de Chirico's Melancholy.
What I see is Order.
Intent.
Design.
Peace.

It's birth, like all births, is violent. The earth is scarred, the workers exhausted, fighting with gravity and the sinfulness of humanity.

But in maturation, peacefully the structure sits in space. Stable. Gracefully it hovers. Reflecting its surroundings. As if to say, "Yes, I exist. Yes, you exist and I am listening." Not piercing violently. Not showing off with stars and gold and pinnacles. Like a monk in gray robes, in prayer.

Our close friend who works there and got us past the food court and video screen sees the guts of the building. In the most grotesque of terms, I am sure.

As an architect, at every line between floor and wall, panel and door, frame to frame, I see the dream that disseminated to a team that spread through fingers and nerves to pens and keyboards. The realignments, the corrections, the red slashes, the late nights, the power play, the anxiety, money changing hands reluctantly, the resentment of one trade for another. I see code books and officials and council meetings and insurance agents and accountants. I see the welder who gets it right, the scheduler, the trucker, the crane operator, the erector, all getting it right. Or wrong. And the ensuing angers.

I see how two lines on a drawing came to exist as two lines on a wall hundred of feet in the sky that only an architect would notice and love and honor and cherish.

Robert A. M. Stern, Architect.

OCD? Anal Retentive? Personality disorder? Control freak? Yes. Manifest in our frail humanity, yes, yes, yes and yes. In God? He ordered the universe and knows the number of hairs on our head, and yes, calls us by name. Order and beauty.

So I wandered in the peacefulness of line meeting line, panels hugging frames. Sculptural elements, a shock of color here and there. Tone on tone, maizes, creams. Sky.

Cast in clouds and dreams.

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Where Have You Been All My Life?

I have been on a hunt for years. Years. For the tree topper of my dreams. I had it in my head that I wanted an angel. It is said that an angel can show up anywhere . . . to wrestle with Jacob . . . at the elderly Abraham's tent to announce an improbable pregnancy . . . to young Mary to announce an impossible pregnancy . . .

And Mary said: "My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud
in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel, r
emembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
even as he said to our fathers."

How did I know I'd find you on the sale rack of Home Depot?

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Pink and Red All Over

I decided I wanted red and pink this year. I know, that's supposed to clash, but like anything, if done right, can look good. Anyway, I like it! That blob of pink at the top is supposed to be a bow.

And the answer to your question is : 11 feet.

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A Calling

I am an architect. But don't ask me about your curtains. I've actually had people ask me to help them pick curtains. OK, maybe because architects are supposed to have good taste? I don't know how to break to them that I dislike curtains.

I digress. (Please hold the 'so what's new' comments!)


The projects I've worked on are "institutional," meaning public schools, hospitals, civic work. I've been a part of some fabulous work. One was featured in our profession's national journal. I spoke about it at a national conference in Atlanta. Others were highly complex, multi-phased internal renovations of hospitals requiring no 'down time.'

They are fascinating to me, but those are not my favorite projects. I have two. One is lovely to look at, one is not; both are beautiful in spirit.

The first is an elementary school located in the quaint town of Brookville in northern Pennsylvania. Originally designed in 1939 by the firm I worked for, it was innovative in its use of steel in combination with wood. It is a lovely neo-Classical structure anchored by a clock tower. Literally, generations walked to that school, first as the high school, then an elementary school. The days of walking to school are all but gone. Most school are mega-schools, supposedly to save on costs. I don't think anyone figured out the social and emotional cost of losing the neighborhood school. This school almost met a similar fate, but the school board changed its mind and we were privileged to be able to convert it to current standards. Today, parents who walked to that school walk their own children there to school. And the clock works.

The second is also an elementary school. It is in the declined post-industrial city of Johnstown. The plan was to abandon this ugly, windowless building in a questionable neighborhood and build a new building elsewhere. There was so much opposition to the new site that the Board was backed into keeping the 1970's building. Although unspoken, everyone knows some ugly whites didn't want some little black children in their neighborhood. We were given this ugly building. We couldn't give them windows, but we gave them all the benefits that other kids in nice neighborhoods have. Because, why shouldn't they?

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Tinkering

Boo has a very long attention span. That would be a euphemism for "obssessive." This kid has been fascinated with elevators and sliding doors since he was about 18 months old. He also loves garage doors. Though still fascinated by the plain ole residential kind, he has now moved on to fire stations. He realizes how much more variety there are to them. He will just stand there, stare at the gears and tracks and ask how it operates, who operates it, how fast it is, is it bigger than so-and-so, compare the window pattern to others he's seen, etc. etc.

So it's mechanical things he's interested in: vacuums, lawn mowers, snow blowers and construction equipment. All this is a preamble to the fact that today, something clicked with him. Although he's had his Tinker Toys for years, he's finally "got" it. Don't you love it when you see a light come on in your child?

.

Here he is with his vacuum cleaner.
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Dishing

A friend of mine saw my posting about a meal I made at the Shore and didn't realize it was posted from the Shore, using the condo's dishes. She remarked that her mother had the same dishes. She has a penchant for reminding me that she is younger than me, (ahem!) even though we're sort of cyber-twins. I'm not a dish snob or anything, but I am pretty clear about my design preferences. I am, after all, an architect. We, as a type, are known to have just a few opinions about design. So, I cleared that up pronto! and now she wants to see what dishes I actually have. And use. At my house.

My design sensiblities lean toward Modernism. That would be the early 20th Century revolution by the likes of Bertoia, the Eames', Corbu, Wirkkala. Teaks, stainless steel, glass, burlap, earthenware, leather. No space-age George Jetson stuff. No Kitsch. Atleast, not in my house. I appreciate all good design, no matter what style, as well as the cultural relevance of bad design.

There was a "I'll show you mine" thing on a bunch of blogs awhile back. It's a fun, girly thing to do. So, here's a little glimpse of who I am:


EVERYDAY

This white set is for our everyday. No, I don't use linens everyday. We have Boo, remember?? I moved his plastic place mat off to the side for the effect. :-) Those aren't all the pieces, but it gives you an idea of the clean look I prefer. It's a combination of Crate & Barrel, Target and Craigslist. The lip on the plates are great for a little one chasing peas with a fork.




FRIENDS

This Sasaki set is in pale, pale pink with a raw stoneware edge. It is designed by Vignelli and Vignelli, a graphic designer/architect team out of New York. I love how the raw edge looks, and sets it off from the table. Conceptually, it's very East Asian,


in that it is lifted high off the surface, and the raw edge is accentuating it's differentiation from it's surroundings. I use this set when I'm having friends over, and if I'm not serving a tomato sauce. The red-orange doesn't look appetizing on the blush tone. I love the shapes. I could practically eat up those salt and pepper shakers.




Here we are at a summer time potluck. These women are some of the first friends I met here 5 years ago, when we were put together as a playgroup. We got on so well, we ditched the group that put us together, but stayed together as a playgroup!




FORMAL

This is my wedding china. I should say "ours," because I've never met a man that was so concerned about china as my HH. Having a design-sensitive husband is a blessing and a curse, y'know! For those of you who roll their eyes at their seemingly colorblind husbands, think of the alternative!! Actually, I love that HH has a great sense of design. . . we're a great team. Anyway, here's a combination of Mikasa Royal Glimmer, Dansk teak and Sasaki Orbit Gold. I have to credit my best friend, Artsy, for finding me those napkins. They are so funky and work so perfectly with my dishes, to give it an individual flair. I try to put a retro spin on it by combining the settings with teak and vintage pieces. No brass candlesticks here.




For those that have "issues" with using Art in manufactured products, you'll just have to decline the invites to our home! Ha! Actually, I have issues with that too, sometimes. I think Klimt, though, and other Secessionists, are good at transferring to other media like linens, carpeting and decor.



I have sixteen - yes 16 - place settings. Of course I didn't know gold can't go in the dishwasher!! Can you imagine setting out 16 place settings of your good china and then washing them at the end of the evening?? Not this mama!

So, come on over!


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