Studio Happenings and Inspirations

Hi friends,

I've been finding teeny tiny bouts of time in the studio to work on teeny tiny projects. And as my studio life often reflects (or maybe imitates) what is orbiting in my physical life, it seems only suiting that I've been working on a very small scale. I'm learning to work for 20-30 minutes at a time because that's how my schedule shifts while tending to the little one. And it makes me wonder how I spent those glorious long hours alone with my thoughts and my tools and a big pretty studio window overlooking the busy street below. Time, you masquerader, you.

I'll be restocking my Etsy shop in a few weeks and the photos above are a sneak peek at some of the new work. I'm currently drawn to natural fibers and hues punctuated by bold primary pops of color. Fuschia against linen. Red against pale brown. And lime green against a dusty white. I've always loved how the songbirds look at the feeder against the winter snow. And I think my recent trip to NY re-inspired this familiar winter view. So I'm recreating the palette in my projects? Yes, perhaps so. I am endlessly inspired by the nuances of weather and season. Ho hum.

And... I am currently loving these design books: Open Studios with Lotta Jansdotter, MicroGreen: Tiny Houses in Nature, and Modern Vintage Style by Emily Chalmers. And have you seen this cabin design website yet? Good grief. As if I needed another design drool-worthy distraction.

Happy week to you.

xoxo,
k.

Winter Wonderlands

I've returned from the land of winter. The true winter. The deep-in-your-insides winter. The no-way-to-escape it winter. The winter-winter. The chill. The gasp. The edges of weather. And it was enchanting, I must admit.

Snow. And just a bit more snow. And mostly just chilly but some days it was down right impossible. And my California body doesn't understand a New York winter anymore. It's been almost a decade and I've been reset. Re-patterned. Re-purposed, maybe. But some part of me still peeks out from behind the freeze and grows giddy with the barren trees and piercing sky and spread of white across the hillsides and rooftops and lawns. Yes, giddy.

I am easing back into my studio life. I am already loving 2012. I have a few projects on the horizon and look forward to sharing them with you as they evolve. Hi there, 2012. It's very nice to meet you.

xoxo,
k.

I'll Be Back Soon & Happy New Year's Too

Dear friends,

The fog is thick across the rooftops and tree branches this morning and, thankfully, my tea is hot and somehow streamlined in comparison. I'm suddenly maintaining a uniform of plaid flannel shirts and dark denim jeans and high leather boots or wooly slippers and often a hat with flaps or, I admit, a bright yellow beret. Cardigans are slung over the backs of nearly every chair in our house and small and large throw blankets too. Today is fog rolling into late morning and a little boy asleep and a handful of photographs between me and you.

I'm going to take a few weeks away from this space. We'll be visiting friends and family and so I'll leave you with a few glimpses into our cozy Christmas morning. The lights on the tree kept us company until the sun peered through and the rest of the neighborhood started to wake. Of course, our mornings start early. Or our evenings run late. Or time is still in short cycles of newborn care but we are finding our way down tunnels and portals and side streets of daily function. His cheeks are rounder. His eyes are brighter. His hands are more like my hands.

Happy New Year, dear friends. And do you want to know a secret? Okay, then. My birthday is New Year's Day.

xoxo,
k.

Happily Winter Merry

Happy Holidays to you, dear friends.

I hope your winter holidays are filled with peace and joy and that pretty winter light. I hope you find a bit of magic tucked here and there and that you drink some champagne and eat some sugary snacks and stay in your pajamas a bit longer than usual. I hope you are surrounded with things that sparkle and twirl and pirouette and otherwise sing. I hope you make a New Year's resolution that feels more like fun and less like function. I hope you have ample time with family or friends or colleagues or neighbors or even kind strangers or otherwise beloveds near and far. And if you live in cold weather, I do hope you catch a snowflake on your tongue.

Happily Winter Merry. That's my wish for you.

xoxo,
k.

December in Oakland and a Red Thread for Mothers

This is what December looks like here in Oakland. It always amazes me that we have flowers at the farmer's market and Christmas trees on the corner. Squash, greens, roots, apples, persimmons, and citrus fruit abound. And a very low December sun makes for very long sidewalk shadows.

***

I've managed to find moments in the studio to make a handful of Christmas ornaments for our sweet little tree. The "peace" ornaments might one day become a mobile or a wall hanging or something to hang near our stockings.

***

Our little one is 6-weeks old and my heart and head are still planted in my new world of motherhood and also the practical parts of tending to a newborn and being on maternity leave. Not surprisingly, I often find myself thinking about lineage and my own mother and my grandmother and I imagine them tending to their own tiny humans and wondering when they too would return to the things they had nearly forgotten.

And I imagine this is how my mother did it. And how her mother did it. And how the mothers before them did it too. How there is this long red thread of lineage holding us all together over decades and then over centuries. How all the mothers before me held onto that same red thread as they tended to their newborns and contemplated their new identities as "mother".

Their bodies accomplishing amazing feats. New levels of physical pain and tiredness and also reveling in the simplest new joys and holding fast to that thread knowing that all too soon the whir of the world would be back inside their hearts and homes. And how the newborns hold to that thread too, learning miraculous skills like how to turn their heads from side to side and then suddenly purse their lips into a very first smile.

And my heart continues to peel back and open.

xoxo,
k.

Other People's Pretty and Holiday Inspiration

Source: flickr.com via Katrina on Pinterest

Source: stylesncream.blogspot.com via Katrina on Pinterest

Source: flickr.com via Katrina on Pinterest

Source: poppytalkhandmade.com via Katrina on Pinterest

Source: etsy.com via Katrina on Pinterest

Source: moredesignplease.com via Katrina on Pinterest

***

Somehow, it is already December. And somehow, the holidays are just around the corner. And somehow, I haven't yet purchased or crafted one holiday present. I haven't hauled the decorations out of the bottom of the closet. I haven't baked one cookie in honor of the merry winter celebrations. This year, I might just dress our newborn in red and white stripes and consider our apartment "decorated".

Instead, it's been warm in Oakland and I've been welcoming the gorgeous warm weather by taking long walks with the little one. I will not complain about the pretty winter sunlight or the warm windy afternoons but my heart is full of lazy silver snowflakes and boughs of evergreen. You can take the girl out of New York but you just can't take New York out of the girl. Le sigh.

I am managing to make a few new ornaments for our Christmas tree and I have holiday cards waiting for best wishes to be written and sent. Little pockets of time here and there and yonder. I've also started a new holiday-themed board over on Pinterest to indulge my wintery visions (complete with the gorgeous found images posted here).

This year, it seems I am amassing a collection of other people's pretty.

xoxo,
k

Transitioning and Always Dawn or Dusk

*

**

***

****

*****

Dear friends,

A few glances into our nest these past few weeks. Time has taken on an entirely new meaning. The little one is suddenly one-month-old and we are suddenly one month into parenthood. And somehow, it always feels like dawn or dusk. It's as if the sun is always rising or setting and another day is just ending or just about to begin.

Sleep is seldom and infrequent. And I am realizing that this feeling of lightness and drifting and tiredness are actually the new ways of being. We are in transition and time is meaningless. I'm not convinced there are still 24 hours in each day but some days there are 30 and other days there are only 12 or 15. Evening and dark and light and waking and resting are all inverted and, somehow, it always feel like daybreak or sunset.

Soon enough, I will return to the studio and to your beautiful blogs and to the other parts of myself that have been patiently waiting while we've been immersed with our newborn. For now-- just a few photos in low light cast with a bit of what is bewildering and also very new. And, my dearest Maxwell Forest, you are full of quiet mornings peeking out from the California fog and also the most radiant and cloud-coloring dusk.

xoxo,
k