invite me over: Sherlock meets Waldo

 

To some, having a desk at the end of their bed might look like a pair of handcuffs. And I totally get that. We all want to wake up and pretend, just for a brief, glorious moment in time, that our lives really do just consist of solo coffee dates, lengthy bubble baths, and perhaps, if we’re feeling particularly motivated, matinee movies.

But if we must work, then we must do what we love (or so everybody likes to muse as though they’re telling you this information for the first time). And the fella that lives here? He’s an art expert, world traveller, and interior designer. Meet Rodman Primack. Or meet the man that leads the life we all wish we had.

Below, a peak at his enviably cultured apartment in NYC, courtesy of Architectural Digest.

Yes, we’ve seen that gnome before… this week’s Wednesday Feast was teasing you and you didn’t even know it. 😉

It’s hard to put your finger on just where in the world his style is coming from. I see Spain, Morocco, France, Belgium, even the otherworldly (I’m looking at you, gnome boy). Yet everything comes together with such clarity. His galleries are a masterfully curated example of this, featuring each corner of the world all at the same time so that we witness one fantastical scene of cultural diversity.

Primack’s playfulness with proportions seems to come naturally to him, too. Where we might expect smaller accents of color, we see paintings, plants, and light fixtures dominating the scene, unabashedly testing our limits.

The result, of course, is an apartment that sacrifices our expectations for relentlessly eclectic fun. Sherlock-meets-Waldo kind of fun. And what’s more fun than that combo?

Hope everyone had a lovely Easter weekend! Does anyone have any family/solo traditions for celebration? I’m really curious because sometimes they’re straight up hilarious/ I would like to live vicariously through you. For the past three years, Easter has been something of a semi-sweet occasion for me. On the one hand, I have the whole house to myself as my roomies flee to their respective homes, and on the other, I just think about how awesome it would be to have my seat back at home, a huge chicken and mashed potatoes filling my plate as my eyes grow four times their normal size in anticipation of eating.

Regardless, everyone seems particularly chipper during Easter weekend. Tulips, pastel colors, maybe the appearance of sun dresses if the weather permits – Easter really just doubles as one big celebration of spring, baby!

*m

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Lingering upon Alice Gao’s creativity

Today, I thank the world for photography. Correction, Alice Gao. Because, unfortunately, under the realm of photography is the likes of selfies, and so I can’t say I thank the whole world.

But I’m just gonna come clean and say it – selfies are such a gift. Come on, they’re super liberating. You have all the power in the world to be as pleased as you like with your photo, rather than having your face’s fate quivering in the hands of that stranger at the party who snapped you and a friend out of the blue, leaving you like a couple of deer in headlights with excessive makeup on. (What an image. I enjoy it.)

So on second thought, yes, I thank the world for photography and selfies.

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Alice Gao, though, really must be the reigning queen of this world. Or at least for me, on this day, and since I’ve found her. For example, I can’t decide whether or not I’d like to hang the finished painting alone or the photo itself of the painting still dripping from the creative process. As in, with the palette still fresh and the bottles looking as if they have given every last drop of their creative juices to the canvas at hand. And the strips of moody navy, slowly peaking towards the colour the artist was looking for. She makes her photo a piece of art, when it is itself featuring a piece of art. Now that’s ingenuity.

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And here, although these flowers look as though they’re fit for a palace or among tight circles serving high tea, the griminess of the sink and the crossing strips of metal on the window serve as a humble stage for the royally strewn stems.

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Caught mid-packaging, I see every bit of the efforts we take in creating something beautiful from head to toe for a recipient we care about. Cut string, labels messied about from choosing just the right one, stamps even. It’s as if Gao is floating in and out of our lives and pauses these moments in the most unexpected lights.

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Ah. This I adore. The composition has allowed for an immense dark sky to hover over the vibrancy of the flowers, the normalcy of morning tea. But this colour to me is not laden with grief or gloom, but blanketing comfort, lifted just enough so that we can see the light she has captured.

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I almost feel as though I’m viewing more so a portrait of a portrait than a scene of an apartment. The framing of this portrait, however asymmetrical, focuses the lady staring right back at us. The to-die-for gold and marble end table elevates her to a point of eye-level, as if we’re about to enter into an enlightening conversation with the woman before us (who I have no doubt has some bad-ass stories to tell).

ps. white brick wall alert. yes, i am swooning.

And oh my golly gee willickers, I just found her blog, Lingered Uponand I did a helluva lot more than just linger. I think I just moved in unannounced. Here’s a sneak peek of her posts, slash justification of my rudeness:

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Just everything about this outfit makes me feel like a savvy, stylin’, successful photographer.

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And just everything about this makes me want to just be her for a day. Those boots. That espresso. That style.

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Chalky Creative Juices (Yummy, eh?)

You can just call the space above my bed a void. Regrettably, it holds the remnants of a DIY project that was unintentionally entirely unpractical. That’s kind of a mouthful, but the project was too. I hung stringed lights so that they made the silhouette of a frame. Boom, that’s magical. Then I tied three strings from each side to the other, and attached photos with paper clips to it. That’s where it went awry. Because every time I settled into bed, my pillows would destroy my masterpiece in one innocent “still-getting-comfortable” move.

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So remind me why I didn’t move into a classroom again? Well, because that’d be straight up depressing, obviously. But it does hold a very simple answer to not only changing up your bedroom as often as you please, and, if I got that nifty chalkboard “marker”, I get a semi-permanent headboard too.

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Isn’t this room so alive? It’s practically bursting through my screen. And, unlike my own whimsical dreams of a starrily lit headboard with dangling photos, the whimsical nature of these cupboards is still practical. It also saves you from ever needing to tell a friend or house guest (I guess the house guest isn’t your friend, in this case) from where that dang breakfast spoon is.

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I recognize that this is a menu, but golly jee willickers, it’s art to me. This should just be my headboard instead. And I wouldn’t say no to what they’re serving up either. (In fact, I’d ask for it immediately. Maybe command if I’m direly hungry.)

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So what we’re looking at here is but a simple collage, am I right? No! A gallery of inspiration, thanks to the elegant logo floating above. A collage can always be deemed a gallery when given a title.

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I never knew this either, but a chalk headboard can make your dreams come true, too. Want a little puppy to greet you in the morning? Draw one into your reality. Let’s just ignore the fact that it may be diagnosed with an unknown doggy disease given its distant eyes and disintegrating legs. Let’s move on from this morbidity. It’s a cute idea.

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And here, I present to you, a real gallery! Displayed on the walls of a Parisian apartment bedroom, we have a very minimalist gallery – although, I’d fill those frames in a second with some substance. Or at the very least a chalk-drawn doggy. 😉

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Gord Bond Exhibition at Hamilton’s Mulberry Street Coffee House (aka a coffee shop I can deem perfect in an instant).

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I sat down next to a rather colourful young man, with a pair of eyes that seemed to stare into my soul, or at least one side of my face. I was then asked to leave the coffee shop as I was engaging in an animated discussion with a painting.

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Gord Bond is the real creator of these fellas. He plays “God” to a whole clan of faces that perpetuate reflection on how we examine those around us – what we decide is perfect and, with that, what we decide is beautiful.

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I was entranced by them. And although not for their realism initially, I came to see these portraits as even more realistic as to how we interpret the world… because I don’t go up to the bus driver to pay for my ticket and see nothing but a face in perfect proportions. I see the greying hairs burrowed on top of his eyes, and maybe the lines stemming from his eyes. Or I greet the hostess of a local restaurant and focus on her perfectly arched eyebrows, as though they were painted on her face, and her full lips dramatized with the help of a cranberry hue in lipstick. So if I were to paint a portrait of either of these people, and if I were to paint proportionally as to what I focused on, the works of Gord Bond would mirror my own, in terms of style alone, to a precise degree. Magnified and shrunken characteristics, bold strokes glazing over the areas I didn’t linger over, and more detail given to the areas I did. The beauty of this work, however, is that no two portraits would be the same given our own differing interpretations of our imperfect world around us. What ends up on my canvas could be entirely different than yours’, and that’s why I was so entranced with these paintings… because it was as if I was stepping into the interpretation of the world through the eyes of another.

*m

(no photo mine, unless it says Little Rabbit Ears on it!)

My Next Dinner Guest is Nature

With the leaves bidding adieu from the trees lining our street, I’m finding myself more and more tempted to buy a big ol’ bouquet of flowers and placing them in as many spots as possible in my room. Seeing as though my duvet is already dipped in a cheery floral print, one might think I would reject the thought of more flowers – but I can’t stop! Yesterday I started dreaming up a canopy around my bed built of flowers and vines and it was too pleasing for words.

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But you should tell me I’m being quite selfish to hide all the glory of nature in just my bedroom from my roommates. I’m sure they’re all aching for it just as I am… so no one would resist if I lined the dining table with a myriad of autumn leaves and berries, would they? Just as long as they don’t think the berries are to eat. Everyone knows the smaller, more fairytale berries are poisonous (my rule of thumb).

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Or how about leaving a bunch of flowers that seems to capture the last of fall’s vibrancy all at once? Not to mention has what looks to be miniature apples dangling by.

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(Must be served with layers of pancakes as courtesy. And served with layers of whipped cream and berries as a luxury.)

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But I’ve noticed that, with much appreciation, sometimes the most simplistic greenery of all can appear the most elegant. And sprouting out from opaque black jars against a crochet table mat, well this is too much rustic charm to handle.

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But here we are on the opposite side of the spectrum again. If one is aching for the summer again, by all means, go for it. Arrange every colour of the rainbow into as many vases as you like. The burst of neon with the napkins stabilizes the explosion of colour to me.

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Layer cake. And these plates would just go too perfectly with the table already.

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Oh my sweet lord. I can’t decide which I adore more – the fact that this table is nestled under not only the stars and trees, but an ethereal chandelier dipping down from above, or the fact that the stars themselves seem to have fallen onto the table already, illuminating the flowers Mother Nature brought instead of wine to the dinner party.

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I just picture each of these chairs being gleefully dipped into an enormous, cotton-candy smelling pot of pastel colours, only to realize that it would look just as charming if they pulled them out before they’d gone all the way through. Or perhaps it was the happiest mistake ever made.

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Who has seen a pie this cool? Cool enough to just drop on triangular pieces of batter in any which way they please and have this as the result. (That’s definitely how they make this pie, right? Droppin’ pie crust is the most effective.) The traditional grid lattice, which I adore, has been given a breather while this funky, triangular cut gets to steal the show for a bit.

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To me, this is the most effortless of all the table scapes. And perhaps that’s because we’ve caught it in the act of setting the table, and what looks to be a fresh loaf of bread is giving the whole room an atmosphere of home (if your home does happen to bake bread on the daily). But more than that, they’ve chosen such a vibrant purple set against so much greenery, and then they let the light from the window, and the colourful dishes speak for themselves.

Even if I have to wear my parka every day, fall still has some kick in her – she has plenty of colour to give.

*m

Credits can be found via my pinterest. 

Indoor Voices, Please

Some things in life are reserved for children. Pee-pee dances, ice-cream trucks, and fort building just don’t draw as much of an adult crowd.

On second thought, that is debatable, as I sit here envisioning the fort I built last year for *ahem* studying purposes. Success rates are low for actual “studying,” especially when embraced by blankets and a box of celebration cookies are within arm’s reach (just as an FYI). And you know what, if an ice-cream truck were to parade down my street at this very moment, the primal urge to leap through my house would overcome me, alerting any and all roommates as the sweet, melodic tune drags me by the ear to its menu.

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When all is said and done, and I’ve managed to devour a chocolate fudge ice cream bar with zero stains, I’ll think about heading back inside as a nineteen year old. My homework, at the very least, will snidely greet me.

And yet, there are other moments where that child and young adult fuse into one glorious creation. Call me, “Swing Table.”

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The most divine creation of all tables. My inner-child is jumping for joy whilst wiping the chocolate remains off her cheeks (it is a stark white, after all), and my literal-aged self is sighing in content serenity, imagining a spread of crepes atop the surface.

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The foundation for this idea is mostly laid in whimsy and child-like playfulness, and yet the outcome is both refined and stately. A walnut surface set against the swaying chairs is reminiscent of the modernities of design embracing traditional roots. Nature embracing what it has led to.

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I don’t want to get too philosophical on you here, but at the very least, I feel as though this piece demonstrates that neither nature nor modernity is ignoring the other. In that fusion, we find a piece of furniture that cannot help but to tempt my child-like, yet oh-so-mature eyes.

Find at Fancy.

This weekend couldn’t have come sooner, on a side note.

What I hope to accomplish is highly academic.

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Come to me, pumpkin meringue pie. I shall treat you well.

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Oh, how I love it when I find a new cooking blog that I can devour with my eyes.

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Mmm, spiced cream filling. The golden edges are reminiscent of the TOWER of pancakes I made this morning. That tends to happen when one does not take note of the servings size. Three pancakes envisioned. Eleven made.

No regrets.

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An Incomplete To Do List

What I should do with my summer and what I do, in fact, do with my summer are two very different things. And not that I’m not enjoying myself, with this intellectual enlightenment I’ve been granted during summer school – it’s just, I need some variety up in hur. Don’t get me wrong, I relish summer. It parades into my life once a year, with baskets of confetti and absurdly large sunglasses, and we all dance around like old pals in front of some kid’s lemonade stand. We then haggle the dollar price on the lemonade and leave with a real bargain! (I kid, I kid. I pay fair price for that lemonade. It’s fair trade.) But here comes the real tragedy. I haven’t been to a single lemonade stand. This doesn’t necessarily define my summer, believe it or not, but I also haven’t been to the beach more than two times, maybe thrice (I am Shakespeare with that word). And I also haven’t had a week of lounging on my couch where my laziness has taken on the shape of another Miranda, dressed in a pair of lounge pants that are never allowed to leave the house and Hermione level hair.

Hey, you might be thinking, ah jeez, what a debbie downer (imagine if your name was actually Debbie Downer for a moment and bask in gratitude), but all I’m thinking lately is how I should be painting my front door bubblegum pink and putting up my favourite number on it.

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Or that I should spend more time making use of all of the dishes in my kitchen, whipping up crepes and croissants and declaring, “C’est parfait!” with a triumphant kiss to the air (even if the croissants resemble a popped balloon more quickly). If my kitchen was on the airy, crisp level of this beauty above, I don’t think this could be a problem at all. As soon as the aroma of the culinary masterpieces had settled in the kitchen and seeped into the unsuspecting noses of my family members, we would all take a celebratory dip into the most inviting, modest pool I’ve seen. A pool like that is unassuming, and almost more luxurious in its simplicity because it’s not demanding your attention. It’s more of a pleasant peek-a-boo once you enter the kitchen.

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Most importantly, why have I not found a place like this to have all of my meals in? This space begs to be filled with slender women dressed head to toe in breezy sundresses on  a strictly gluten free diet. There is a certain elegance to this room that is very natural, most likely due to the abundance of greenery spilling from each corner. And the candle-lit lighting is always a suggestion of both intimacy and luxury to me.summer to do list 4

Really tempted to do something my mother would do, and bring a bundle of tree branches into the home, but then top it off with a myriad of lights and/or orbs with candles set in them. I think I may need to dedicate an entire post about why I am so obsessed with stringed lights.

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And a final quote to leave on.

“I still love the people I’ve loved, even if I cross the street to avoid them.”

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Character

These are a few beauties of rooms I stumbled across while tumblin‘. 
So much going on, and yet it’s all so perfectly connected. The room just above is crazy. It’s as if they just decided, “To heck with traditional dining rooms! Let’s just throw everything we like in one room!” And bam, what do you get? A room with clear practicality, but also a sense of style so unique there’s no way you’ll see a replica of it anywhere. Note the teal tiles between the arches framing the artwork and mirrors.    

A hint of brick or an entire wall of it, either way it is simply a necessity in my future home. There’s no way I can go without it. Whenever I see those delicious mixtures of deep burgundy in a room, it’s that rugged touch that draws me in. The sense of masculinity against a feminine palette, or that character that makes the room seem so much more lived in and has so much more story behind it.

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{images credited by clicking, other than the ones I can’t find, but I do not own any of these pretty shots}