Private Isle Escape

To walk from my desk to today’s first meeting, I had to first pull on my green rubber Hunter boots, wrap myself in a thick cashmere scarf, shove hard against my office door, and make a slip-slidey run for it through several inches of snow. By the time I  arrived at the meeting, mere yards away, I looked like I’d just trekked across Siberia.

View from my office door back to the main building

Back safe and warm at my desk, watching the snow pile up on my glass ceiling and on the roof outside my door, I have only one thing on my mind. Escaping to a private tropical island, far from the arctic climate of Manhattan. Today is my boyfriend J and my fifth year anniversary, so I am envisioning somewhere sunny and serene, with just enough privacy for romance and enough civilization for beachside champagne and delicious meals. There are three that fit the bill perfectly: Coco Point, Mustique, and Petit St Vincent, or “PSV” as those in the know would say (and I count myself as “in the know” after a few minutes—or hours—spent perusing their website and various reviews).

Coco Point, which I was lucky enough to visit a few winters ago, is nestled on the private island of Barbuda, just off the coast of Antigua. If its miles of white sandy beaches, turquoise waters and verdant palm trees and hibiscus sound like an idealized version of the tropics created just for a postcard, it’s because this is the most postcard worthy place I’ve seen in my life. All is exactly as it should be in the most discerning of Caribbean fantasies. Guests stay either in the main lodge or in villas scattered around the island. There are a very limited number of guests allowed on island at any one time, so you get to know one another quickly. It feels more like a club than a resort—in fact many families have gone for the same week for years, so grew up together in this particular slice of heaven, albeit for one week a year.

Mustique, a private island owned by shareholders from around the world, features a main lodge as well, the Cotton House, as well as one hundred villas and private home spread across the island’s 1400 lush acres. The Cotton House and villas are designed beautifully—they are luxurious but not in a very nouveau, McMansion sort of way, and they seem to nestle into the coastlines and cliffs they reside on. If you want a dose of celebrity with your private island retreat, Mustique is the place to go: Princess Margaret, David Bowie, and Mick Jagger are frequent visitors to this secluded paradise.

Petit St Vincent, a tiny private island that has been run as a boutique resort by the same family for 30 years, seems to combine the best aspects of Coco Point and Mustique. Its 115 acres are dappled with a mere 22 intimate, perfectly composed cottages.  Some are high up on hilltops overlooking the majestic landscape and ocean beyond, while others sit right on the beach, inviting early morning tanning sessions and late night skinny dipping. In front of each house there is a flag pole—raise a yellow flag and stick a note inside if you want drinks, food, or anything else delivered to you at any time of day or night. Raise a red flag for privacy, and you will be left alone. The same system applies to the many hidden beach spots around the island—hike to a private little cove, but don’t get too used to roughing it—raise a flag and champagne and chocolate cake can be delivered to you beachside in moments. Can I raise a yellow flag outside my office door and have a private jet delivered to take me to PSV right now? Yes please!

images: my own, Coco Point Lodge, Mustique-Island and Petit St Vincent websites

Cheering for Queensland

When something goes wrong in the US, we know it. Headlines are everywhere, television news shows cover our domestic disasters day and night, and even those who believe in the maxim that ignorance is bliss are unable to escape the knowledge of whatever the disaster is. This constant information inundation allows those unaffected to witness the suffering of others and, one hopes, to do something about it—to volunteer, to send money, to say prayers, whatever it may be.

A real disaster has occurred these last couple of weeks in Australia, and between Top Chef and American Idol, I’ve hardly heard more than a few words about it. Flooding of the Brisbane and Bremer rivers has devastated the Australian state of Queensland. In the city of Brisbane alone, more than 25,000 homes and 5,000 business have been destroyed, families and the elderly losing every earthly possession. Living here in New York, on the other side of the globe, there is not much I can do but read the stories and confront the pictures of devastation the State Premier described as of ‘postwar proportions.’ During dismal days like these, there is nothing to do but look for a patch of sun amidst the clouds. Luckily, Australian design is replete with cheerful patterns, hues, and whimsy. Every Australian interior, clothing line, and textile line seems positively bursting with energy and happiness. Bright colors, organic materials, communion with the beautiful Aussie outdoors, and unabashed good humor seem to define the designs coming up from down under. Enjoy this sampling of a few of my favorites, and take a moment to pray for our neighbors in need on the other side of the world .

Wild for Wilde

Oscar Wilde, an Irish writer, poet and playwright, is known both for the witty sharpness of his pen and the serious tragedies that befall him during his short life. He is probably most famous for his sole novel, A Picture of Dorian Grey, and for his masterpiece, The Importance of Being Earnest. A play with ‘no serious interest’ was requested, and Wilde delivered a seriously hilarious work of art. The three act play (originally four acts) trivializes seemingly serious ideas and institutions, particularly marriage. The two central characters, Jack and Algernon, each have an elaborate imaginary friend that they use to escape the serious obligations of their everyday lives in favor of pleasanter pastimes. Jack has led his ward, Cecily, and her governess Miss Prism, to believe that he leaves their country home for London regularly to deal with his naughty brother Ernest. In London, he takes on the persona of Ernest himself. Algernon, a London friend, has invented an invalid companion, Mr. Bunbury, whom he is supposedly obligated to visit in the country. During the course of the three acts there are many cases of mistaken identity, impulsive proposals, and finally a few “serious” revelations about the characters’ true identities. The plot, remarkably clever though it is, plays second fiddle to Wilde’s masterful manipulations of the English language. It is as if the words that comprise that old Webster Merriman Dictionary were put there expressly as toys for Wilde’s pen to play with.

The Wilde man himself!

Wilde's home in Dublin

The first production of The Importance of Being Earnest was met with wild approbation on all sides, except one: the father of Wilde’s male lover, the Marquess of Queensberry, had plans to foil the production by presenting Wilde with a bouquet of spoiled vegetables. Thankfully, Wilde got advanced warning of this malicious plan, and Queensberry was refused entry. The matter escalated, however, landing Wilde in court and eventually in prison, convicted of “gross indecency with other men.” He died shortly after his release, at the early age of forty six.

  

Brian Bedford as Lady Bracknell

A scene set in the garden

The Roundabout Theater Company has recently staged a revival of this play, and it does wonderful credit to Wilde’s wit. The director, Brian Bedford, also stars as the haughty society grande dame Lady Bracknell (a character based on the malevolent Queensberry’s wife!). This character is not traditionally played by a man, and no undue attention is drawn to the fact here, but it somehow works perfectly. Bedford, needless to say, steals the show, although the other actors fill the stage admirably, delivering their lines with great attention to tempo—a long pause here, a jumble of words there, the entire production was practically flawless. I would be remiss to neglect the set designers, who created really lovely scenes of a London living room, a country garden, and finally a library at the country estate. The sets are simple in structure, with beautifully drawn details that draw the eye in while keeping the focus on the actors and, more importantly, the words they speak. I feel so lucky to have spent two nights in a row enjoying the best of New York’s cultural offerings, and it reminds me that living in a city like this is a true privilege that is only enjoyed if you get off your couch, turn off the Real Housewives, and take it all in!  


images via Macklowe Gallery, cbc.ca, unknown

Fireplace Envy

In general, when people talk about their dreary offices and days spent amidst rows and rows of mind-numbingly corporate cubicles, I can't help but smile a little smugly. After spending close to two years sharing the cubicle-pain, I now work in one of the least cookie-cutter, corporate beige places I can imagine. I work in the top of a small, brick tower in the middle of Central Park, overlooking the beautiful limestone facades of Fifth Avenue, the canopy of the Park's trees, the green copper roof of the Plaza Hotel, and best of all, the Central Park Zoo. At this time of year though, the general awesomeness of my workspace begins to fade as the weather gets worse and worse. Snow piles up on the glass roof, our only source of natural light, giving the impression of working in a dark, freezing cold igloo. As I stand over the space heater rubbing my hands together to prevent frost bite (slight exaggeration), visions of fireplaces dance in my head. Modern or classic, indoors or out, any of these would do. I especially love the deep blue Mary McDonald number--it's small but still packs a punch!

Celerie Kemble

Jay Griffith

Suzanne Kalser

Steven Gambrel

Mary McDonald

Pam Voth and Tim Barrall

Ginger Barber

Steven Gambrel

images via House Beautiful, Lonny, Domino, Elle Decor, and unknown

A night at the ballet!

Last  night I got to spend the evening with a good friend doing one of my favorite things: going to the ballet. At over six feet tall and so inflexible I can't touch my toes, I've never had much hope as a ballerina myself, but that doesn't mean I can't love everything about the art form, from a safe, carb-indulgent distance.  In high school, I was so enamored--particularly after watching the age old classic Center Stage about a million times--that I ordered a pair of toe shoes. I would clomp around my house, going up "en pointe" grimacing in pain and staring at the mirror wondering how it's possible all those ballet dancers make it look so effortless. Well, the Black Swan taught us a little something about just how NOT effortless it really is!

 Yesterday was the opening night of New York City Ballet's winter repertory season. It was not a packed house, which was kind of heart-wrenching when you imagine the excited young dancers who have worked so hard, peering out from behind the curtains before they go on stage, and being greeted with the site of a theater only about three quarters full. It did mean, though, that we had fairly unimpeded views from our fabulous orchestra seats. The evening was divided into four parts: Walpurgisnach, Duo Concertant, Valse-Fantasie and the Four Temperments. All four pieces were choreographed by the grandfather of all ballet choreographers, Balanchine. The first piece was beautiful but honestly I couldn't concentrate on the dancing, because I was so distracted by the soloist's ribs protruding literally inches from her concave stomach and out of her chest and back. I understand why ballet dancers have to have long, incredibly slender, lithe bodies but this was just gross. The second piece was really unusual--a pianist and violinist shared the stage with just two dancers, who spent a good deal of time standing still listening to the music... forcing the audience to do the same. When they did move, it was really a gorgeous pas de deux, with no staging besides a blue background, a dark stage, and spotlights following the dancers as they moved together and apart, across the stage. The Valse-Fantasie was closest to my relatively narrow idea of what ballet is--tutus, more classical styling, and more classical choreography. It was almost comforting to see something familiar, but definitely not as striking as what came next. The Four Temperments is a piece (or actually four pieces) commissioned by Balanchine himself. The dancing was, to my eye, pretty modern, with arms and legs moving at odd angles and almost robotic force behind each step, rather than the graceful fluidity I'm more used to in ballets like Swan Lake and Giselle. It was a bit jarring, a bit scary, and impossible to look away from. Really impressive, and it seemed like the whole company was on stage at some point or another! The sight of tens of ballet dancers in simple matching costumes moving in unison is really breathtaking. I'd say NYCB is off to a great start! BRAVA!

Duo Concertant, NYC Ballet

Four Temperments, NYC Ballet

City Mouse: Townhouse Living

As a child I always loved the Aesop's Fable "The City Mouse and the Country Mouse." The story was popular even in Ancient Greece, and was more recently retold by Beatrix Potter. Search it on Amazon and you will find tens of versions available. The gist of it is this: a city mouse visits her cousin in the country, and is frightened by the rain and scoffs at the rustic, plain food. Later, the country mouse visits her city cousin, and is similarly turned off by a couple of dogs and the fanciness of her cousin's lifestyle. Most children probably identify immediately with one or the other--as a fifth generation New Yorker, I definitely always saw myself as the city mouse. More recently though, I've been feeling the pull of the country--beautiful green lawns, delicious homecooked (and maybe homegrown!) meals, big sunny rooms and dogs and horses running around an expansive, beautiful countryside property.

My childhood dream home

images: unknown, luxist, miles redd

I grew up in a townhouse that was part home, part gallery here in NYC, and have always loved strolling through Greenwich Village and down the side streets of the Upper East Side, imagining what goes on behind the beautiful limestone, brick, and brownstone facades. At night you occasionally pass by a house with the lights on and catch a peek of beautiful built-in bookshelves, ornate moldings, arched doorways and all the beautiful details of pre-war New York. Many townhouses open up into private or shared gardens, providing their lucky owners with a quiet piece of the country right in the middle of Manhattan. What could be better?

New York certainly has its share of beautiful apartments too (coming up in the next installment of "City Mouse"!) but there is something undeniably luxurious about having your own house, complete with a serene garden, right in the middle of this city of skyscrapers and non-stop hustle and bustle.

Jumping in feet first

I read many wonderful blogs every day, and yet somehow I am at a loss for how to begin this venture--how to find my own "blogland" voice. I devour blogs like Elements of Style, La Dolce Vita, Urban Grace, and even The Pioneer Woman on a daily basis, but have never really made myself known to the talented bloggers who have provided me with so much inspiration and entertainment, or to the other readers who so generously post comments, share advice and generally form the community I've been a very happy, but silent, member of.

image via: decorno

Not unlike many of the "lifestyle" bloggers whose work I have so enjoyed, my interests basically center around a few things: interiors, fashion, restaurants, cooking, and entertaining. So, I guess this little blog will be my online home--a place to record thoughts, images, and general musings. Maybe nobody will ever read it, but at worst it will be a way to catalogue and retain all the wonderful photographs, recipes, reviews, and material out there in the wide world of the web that I want to be able to return to, draw from, and use to make my life a little prettier, a little tastier, and a little better each day.

Let's see what happens!