Hands and Faces

Hands and Faces

Last week, sitting across from a friend at dinner, I found I could not keep from watching her hands.   Waving in the air like exclamation points, they punctuated all her sentences with expression every bit as clear and articulate as speech.  Later that evening, I happened to catch a rerun of the Merchant-Ivory film, Howard’s End,  on television, and once again found my attention ensnared completely by Vanessa Redgrave’s eloquent hands.  In a movie so teeming with beauty and artistry, her hands are two of the most picturesque players on the screen.

Yes, I have always been fascinated by people's hands. So much more than the sum of their parts, with abilities reaching far past their primary occupation as prehensile appendages, they are, to me, the most intrinsic tools of our uniqueness.  For we all possess them, but they perform so differently for each one of us. 

 Put a paintbrush in the hands of Vincent van Gogh and one has a post-impressionist masterpiece.  Put a whisk in the hands of Julia Child and, voila, a feather-light souffle.  Switch those around and one could reasonably surmise that the results might be altered considerably. 

Some hands can build a ship, some can play the cello. Others can knit a sweater or weave a Nantucket basket. There are hands that know how to gently guide a thoroughbred around a dressage course.  And hands that can make the perfect Tinky Winky costume for a memorable Halloween.

In my many observations, so often it seems that the most captivating hands belong to the most intriguing faces.  People's hands are every bit as unique as their faces, (perhaps that is why holding hands is almost as sweet as a kiss) and I usually find they match the faces they belong to so very well.  Look around a bit and see if you don’t agree. 

By way of example, the hands in the photograph above belong to the artist, Georgia O’Keefe.   

We all know what those hands could do with a paintbrush and canvas. 
 To me, they seem to match her face below just perfectly. 
 Don’t you think?

Now, I think I’ll head out for a manicure.

 Don’t forget to enter the giveaway in the post below. 

The drawing is midnight on the 30th!

Photographs of Georgia O'Keefe by Alfred Stieglitz

Inside The Box Of Summer

Inside The Box Of Summer

(and A Special Summer Giveaway!)

A box full of summer days arrived on my doorstep on the twenty first of June.  Much like Pandora, I lifted up the heavy lid to take a peek inside with nary a thought of what I might release.  And sure enough, blowing past me with an angry gust came the hottest summer in recorded history, heat to fry the fragile flowers and burn up the skeptic’s tome.  Edward and I huddled in the cool shadows of the house as the days grew hotter and the breezes evaporated into the red clay ground.  We banished the box of summer days to a dark place in the garden where disquiet often grows, vowing to ignore its presence as best as we could.  

But then, I wondered... had we been too hasty?  Had we slammed shut the lid on this summer too soon?  Could there perhaps be some pleasures still hidden in the dry, dusty corners of that seasonal box - some colour, some laughter, just waiting to be found?

So I carried it back inside the cool house and gingerly opened it up...and discovered many things still left to enjoy this hot summer season.  So, in spite of the news and the weather, here are some of my favourite things for this summer of record!  And keep reading, there’s a great giveaway at the bottom to cheer us all up on these blistering days!

1.  Masterpiece Theatre

Edward loves to watch Masterpiece Theatre with me every Sunday evening.  He curls up at my feet and adopts his most studious air.  This summer we’ve been enjoying both the new productions of Agatha Christie’s, Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple.  Beautifully photographed and more faithful to the original stories than in recent years, these have been and continue to be, a complete treat.  This marvelous drawing by Amber Alexander reminded me so much of Edward, absorbed in Murder on the Orient Express.  You can find out more about these productions HERE, and you can see more of Amber Alexander’s wonderful art, HERE.

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2.  The Hat

If I had somewhere to wear this, believe me, I would.

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3.  Handbag

Handmade by London’s, Susannah Hunter, these handbags are whimsical and divine! 

See more HERE.

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4.  Knitting

I’m dying to knit this!  The pattern can be found in the Early Fall issue of Vogue Knitting and it looks fairly easy, believe it or not.

See more HERE.

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5.  Fall Clothes!

They will be here soon... and autumn is my favourite season for clothes.  

This ensemble by Ralph Lauren is my first choice!

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6.  Movie

When I exited the theatre after seeing the sumptuous movie, I Am Love, I felt as though I had spent two hours inside the colour orange.  With each scene seemingly kissed by fire, each frame luscious as honey dripping off a red, red rose, this sunny colour dominated my senses just as it clothed the main character.  The movie is sublime eye candy, to be sure, but the real jewel of the piece is the remarkable performance by Tilda Swinton.  The change in her character from the first scene till the last is simply phenomenal.

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7.  Books

I have been reading like a fiend all summer.  Is there a better activity on a sweltering day?  Here are five I’ve loved:

Will There Be Good News by Kate Atkinson - witty and so much fun

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte - I reread this one for my classics book club. Just magnificent!

Absence of Mind by Marilynne Robinson

The Diaries of Virginia Woolf

What Is Left The Daughter by Howard Norman

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8. Song

If The Stars Were Mine by Melody Gardot

Like a warm breeze off the sea - pure summer.

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9.  Smiles

One of my favourite scenes on film has always been THIS DANCE by the great comic duo, Laurel and Hardy. So charming and sweet, I could watch it over and over.  The aforementioned actress, Tilda Swinton, must feel the same way because last month in Edinburgh, she led a public performance of this very dance.  This makes me smile and I do so wish I could have taken part.  I love to see humans behaving like this.

 See Ms. Swinton's version, HERE.

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10.  Laughter

THIS just makes me laugh.  I can’t help it.

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Bonus!  A Giveaway!...

So many of you wrote me following my post on To Kill A Mockingbird in which I mentioned the song I cowrote with The Songwriter.  The song is called “Jump On It” and it was recorded by John Anderson.  It’s also on The Songwriter’s latest CD, so as a special summer giveaway, I’m including, not only this CD, but a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird as well.  The only rule... if you’ve already read the book, you must pass it on to someone who hasn’t!  
Just leave a comment on this post and you’re entered.  
The drawing will be midnight Friday the 30th!
  Good Luck, and Happy Summer to You All!

Congratulations to Michelle May!
She's the winner!!

Couture Longing

Couture Longing

Under stylized high ceilings of art deco design, in a city that is not my own, I enter the gallery and see them waiting for me, composed and silent, like a flock of elegant birds with their wings folded - each one lovelier than the last, each one serenely posing for a visitor’s admiration.  As though inhabited by the ghosts of another time, these faceless frocks lined up before me offer shy suggestions of the women they once graced - the Audrey’s, the Jackie’s, the Suzy, the Grace.   Suddenly aware of my wild hair, my paisley jeans, my gladiator sandals, I find myself feeling a bit diffident, sentenced to wander this exhibition like a sartorially backward peasant, but one more than willing to be reprimanded, one starving for a taste of sumptuous inspiration.   And I am in luck, for this stage is set for a feast.  With strains of La Vie en Rose floating on the refrigerated air and Avedon portraits lining the walls, I am transported back, back, to a time of elegance unseen in this current age, back to The Golden Age of Couture.

 It began on February 12, 1947, the very day Christian Dior launched his couture house in Paris, and it lasted until Monsieur Dior’s death in 1957.  

It was almost as though an enchanted wand was waved over London and Paris, conjuring up artists like Dior and Balmain, Balenciaga and Chanel and creating a magical decade unlike all the others, ten years of resplendent fashion, now remembered with longing for their abundance of unparalleled creativity, quality and style.

As I stand before the most superb examples of the artistry of that decade, the hushed voices in the gallery recede into oblivion and I can almost see the women who once spent their days and nights in these creations........  

.........There in the corner wearing the Jacques Fath green tartan dress stands the enigmatic Scottish mystery writer waiting to board the train at Waverley station, on her way to London where she’ll meet her elderly uncle for tea at the Savoy.....

..........And over there I see clearly... a stone terrace on a spring night in 1949, when the air smelled like honeysuckle and orange Chinese lanterns swayed low in the trees, a winsome new bride clad in a Chaumont evening gown of hand-painted organza is nervously hosting her very first dinner party......

........And here to my left, it is a cold December day, and the tall brunette in the Digby Morton tweed suit turns her velvet collar up against the wind as she stands on the corner of Oxford Street, her arms full of Christmas boxes, her thoughts wrapped in tinsel as she waits for the light to change........

Oh, where did these women go?  When did the waspie waist become the low rider jean?  When were the garments created by dressmakers with “doigts de fees” replaced with those mass-produced and disposable?  When did the latest Sports Illustrated model knock Dovima off her throne?  When was elegance and grace regulated to history and fashion begin to strive more to shock than to adorn?  And, while we’re at it, when did plastic bags replace dress boxes?

Sighing, I take my leave of these ladies with reluctance, resolving to cultivate a more elegant appearance in the coming days.  But, stepping outside, I am hit with a blast of bombastic heat and I make my way to my car, all the while twisting my hair up into a knot and rolling up my sleeves, shamefully grateful that I remembered to pack these sandals.

But then,  I don’t know, perhaps Edward and I could take a few lessons from Dovima and Sascha.  

Should we revamp our image?

 What do you think?  

The Golden Age of Couture is ensconced in the Frist Center for the Visual Arts in Nashville, Tennessee through September 12th.  Culled from the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum, it is truly amazing and not to be missed.  See it if you can!

Christian Dior Fashion Illustration above by Rene Gruau
Photograph of Dovima and her dog, Sascha, by Richard Avedon