Wednesday, February 29, 2012


more here
found via here


Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Some very beautiful works by artist Hein Koh  .....

Healing Dots #4, burnt canvas

Form #6, burnt canvas

Scorched, burnt string on canvas

Form #2, burnt canvas

Burst, burnt canvas

found via here


Sunday, February 26, 2012
 Loving these photographs by the lovely Luisa Brimble .....

.... kind of wishing my morning ritual was like this !!!


Friday, February 24, 2012
Hope you have a good one 
pic via here

The Brightest Colour

Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Brightest Colour

There comes a day in February when all the world is grey. The sky hangs leaden over silver grass. Sparks fly from the chimney’s mouth and disappear into a swirl of ashen air that dims the holly berries and mutes the fiery lamp post flame into a drab and cheerless triviality. Colour is wiped from the landscape as even the hemlocks and magnolias, brave as they are in their cloaks of green, fail to pierce the dusky landscape. Care must be taken to ensure one’s thoughts and emotions outwit the monochrome necrosis that envelops the garden like a fever. No wonder it is the shortest month of the year.

It was into this grisaille mural that I ventured on a morning last week. Locking my door behind me, pulling the collar of my coat up against the damp, I made my way down the drive. Still, silent, the street out front was barren of walkers on this muted morning and my head was as empty as the pavement. Sighing a sigh of ennui, I was passing by the sleeping flower bed when I saw it. Just off to my left, at eye level, on the iron cold limb of a winter pine. A flash of red as bright as a ruby. I froze stone still and stared, face to face with the largest bird ever to grace the confines of my garden. A bird rarely seen by human eyes in my part of the world and one whose sheer outlandishness has inspired both legend and cartoon. With a yard long span of black feathered wings and a red hat on his head of extravagant proportions, I was looking into the ebony eyes of Woody Woodpecker himself. A rare and magnificent Pileated Woodpecker.
He graciously waited till my heart calmed a bit, gingerly hopping from limb to limb, never taking his eyes off my own as he soaked up my gobsmacked admiration. He gave me the briefest of nods then suddenly, with all the grand theatrics of an eagle, he lifted up into the oyster air and flew, wings stretched knife-straight, head aflame with an otherworldly red. I watched him recede into nothingness, his ruby hat slowly evaporating into the grey.
Perhaps, I thought, he chooses this month to be seen.
A holy reminder that in the darkest time, the brightest colour.



See more of this amazing home here
found via here


Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Just found another great use for the washable paper bag I showed you in this post ....

.... from herb holder to plant holder !!!

WOW !!!

Tuesday, February 21, 2012
So loving this installation entitled "The basement stacks" .....

read more  here


Monday, February 20, 2012
I think installing picture rails has been one of the best things we have done in regards to our little freshen up a while back ..... 
so much easier than hammering in hooks, especially when you change things around as much as I do .....
and it was really inexpensive too ......


and they're not only good for pictures .....
..... I love them !!!

The Joke

Friday, February 17, 2012

The Joke

On the very night after one of music’s most gifted voices was found forever silenced in a Beverly Hills hotel room, a remarkable performance pulled the jaded corporate audience up out of their seats in a whooping, hollering ovation at the Grammy awards across town. It was a performance that needed no desperate theatrics to obscure a paper-thin talent. No tumblers nor levitators, no marching gladiators, no fire. The singer did not wear a dress made of meat, nor did she swing from a rope in a cowboy hat. She simply stood on the stage in a fetching black dress and a swath of red lipstick, and sang. Such is the powerhouse talent of the British songstress, Adele. The world is now at her feet. May God protect her.

It was especially difficult not to consider the comparison between this fresh faced, naturally charming girl and the one whose meteoric rise and tragic descent hung like a blue mist over the festivities of that night. The lusciousness of the smiling Adele contrasted painfully with the memory of the ravaged Whitney Houston of latter days. Both had been blessed with an undeniable gift; a gift that, despite all the hoopla and hype of the music business, comes along only rarely. I sat watching Adele drink in the well-deserved adulation of the audience on Sunday, saw her grinning with glee at it all, and I prayed fervently that she has people around her now who will tell her the truth, people who will help her get the joke. For make no mistake, fame is nothing more than a joke. A cruel joke usually played on the very young when they are so certain it’s the one thing in life they desire above all others. Little do they realize, it is a bell that cannot be unrung, a present that cannot be returned when the recipient finds it frighteningly unwelcome. It is incredibly meaningless, yet it has the power to change people in ways they would never have dreamed possible prior to its arrival at their door.
Only the most self-aware amongst us dare shake its hand.

Due to The Songwriter’s occupation, I have seen a bit of fame up close. I have stood beside heart throbs who are oddly shorter that their photographs suggest. I have taken note of the ones who look you in the eye when they speak to you and the ones whose eyes roam the room in search of someone more important. I have learned how to spot those who get the joke of fame, and sadly, those who do not.
I myself have never wished to be famous. When I went to the movies as a little girl, I wanted to be Guinevere, not Vanessa Redgrave - Mary Poppins, not Julie Andrews. It was the characters the actors portrayed that caught my imagination, not the actors themselves. I adored The Beatles, still do, but I would never wish to be one of them. The notion of being hit with flashbulbs on exiting a restaurant fills me with absolute horror and I loathe being photographed the way some loathe a trip to the dentist. However I fear I’m in the minority, for so often today it seems being famous is the ultimate goal. Famous for what? No matter... that doesn’t seem to figure into the fantasy. As long as one can score magazine covers and a few paparazzi, one has hold of the brass ring. Modern television has shown us that merely by sacrificing one’s dignity and grace, fame is actually quite easy to attain and it seems there are many willing to try. Fame doesn’t care if one merits its attention or not, it is more than capable of damaging the one with true talent as it is the one famous for nothing.

There is every reason in the world to be hopeful for Adele, despite her newly colossal fame. She is one of the rare ones who appear to own both a witty intelligence and the ability to revel in the happy ridiculousness of this media comet she is now astride. Her interviews are delightfully self-deprecating and candid, and she seems to know her own mind which can only help her stand firm when she needs to. And she will need to. She has just announced that she intends to take five years off to concentrate on enjoying her life, a decision that will seriously displease some suits in the industry. As much as I love her music, this delights me no end.
Give her a good thought, and wish her well.
I am.

“Don’t confuse fame with success. Madonna is one; Helen Keller is the other.”
Erma Bombeck

“I won’t be happy till I’m as famous as God”.


These fantastic paper mache masks .... 
via here 

this space .....
via here

 finally received my copy .... I can highly recommend it !!!

These beautiful cups .....
via here

this wall ....
  via here

..... and this pool in Berlin, makes me want to swim laps !!!
via here

This pretty much sums up my week ....
 via here

.... but this little guy really bought a smile to my face !!!
via here
Hope you have a great weekend