Dreaming By Design

Simplify!

2011-11-23T05:22:00.001-08:00

It’s early morning Thanksgiving Eve and I’m sittingat my computer reading “brine” recipes. Do I have the right container? All theingredients? The juniper berries, the gallons of cider, the elderberry leavesand fresh sage and candied ginger? Should I be at the door of Williams Sonomaas they open to get exactly the right bag that will hold a 20 lb bird? Did ourmothers brine? I don’t think so.

Of course that was all pre-internetand Alton Brown.

My mom, excellent cook that she was, grew up on a farm but by 1975 one would never have known that. Long past plucking feathers, shetook her turkey cues from modern science: a Butterball injected with variousgrowth hormones to get the breasts large and moist, defrosted for days andstuffed with day old bread. Pumpkin and apple pie, mashed potatoes, turnips, and (slightly overcooked)green beans (no, not haricots verts). The fanciest dish on our dinner table wascreamed onions.

I daren’t suggest we return to chemistry kitchens.But as I ponder the plethora of means to prepare sweet potatoes (OK, yams- let’sget it right), my head begins to ache. I'm waxing nostalgic for the simple days of BettyCrocker and Peg Bracken (some of you will know her). Will my guests suffer if Idon’t soak the almonds in rum? If my piecrust is (heaven forbid) Pillsbury’sBest? If I don’t marinate, macerate, use mirepoix and roux, will my dinner be adisaster?

I love Thanksgiving because it’s about food andfamily, that's it. I shopped for the hordes and will overfeed the masses. We laugh, we eat too much, rest a while and recover over the last play of the last game of the day with a leftover turkey sandwich on (yikes) white bread. And this year I’m attempting to keep it simple. So that by the end of the day tomorrow? I won’t fallheadfirst into my crème brulee.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone- eat well, kiss thoseyou love, relax a little and have fun!

Stories…

2011-10-31T07:12:00.000-07:00

In the last couple of months I’ve helped two close friends as they sorted belongings collected over lifetimes. Moving is always a challenge, and in some regards always emotional when dealing with decades of detritus; both of these moves were particularly poignant because both were related to the loss of someone they love and significant changes in each of their lives as a result. And, of course, the very act of sorting through is telling- what we collect, accumulate around us, the face we show the world and the hidden parts of ourselves that our loved ones are so surprised by even when they thought they knew us intimately. I immediately came home and cleared out my closets; Lord knows, I don’t want my children to know how many shoes I really have…

I was quite moved as I helped these friends sort through and tell their stories. And I started to think about what it is we’re searching for when we “collect” things around us, what expression of “self” is in our possessions. As we cleared things away and sifted through dusty boxes, we kept stopping to look at pictures and little things with no intrinsic value- the stories of a lifetime; touchstones into the soul and windows into our lives. Scribbled notes, ticket stubs, old recipes, childhood toys and collections; each with a story and a memory attached, more valuable than the accumulated “stuff” in the china cabinet. And pictures- especially the pictures. The true talismen of our lives lived.

Our digital age has made photographs more nebulous- we see them on a computer screen, scroll through them on Facebook, but less and less do we memorialize our moments of connection in our space. We have picture “frames” that flip through slides; we hang our TVs over the fireplace like paintings, and even billboards are disappearing to the motility of video screens. Not locked in, lacking specificity, the images slide by, unfixed and ever changing; it’s rare that we actually put our full attention anywhere for more than a few seconds. “Fixed” images are becoming a smaller part of our environments, and the tangible mementos of events in our lives are lost to our “paperless” lives. As we detach from those objects, what will be the conduit to connect us to our stories now?

I’m a painter first. Before I was a designer, before I wrote anything, before I started to think about what I was supposed to “do” with my life, I painted pictures. I stopped for many years, until my very perceptive and thoughtful daughter bought me an easel and paints, and told me to get back to work. It was part of a life changing time, and it changed my life. 16 years later, my first voice remains in the colors of a paintbox, and my favorite part of what I do for clients is “painting” their space; finding a palette that is expressive of their own personal vision, pulling together textures and colors that make their space “home”.

Not unlike photographs, my paintings “frame” memories. No one looking at them would guess that- mostly they seem somewhat blurry landscapes or abstractions of color that have little resemblance to “reality”. But each one tells a story of a time, or a place, or an event; as much as in a photograph, they are the snapshots of my life and when I share them, I’m sharing the story of my life in “still” images.

Of late, I’m liking the literal just as much; I’ve created a little gallery in my little studio, surrounding myself with moments from my lifetime and before- from my parent’s wedding picture through my granddaughter’s hayride last weekend. I’m printing them, framing them and planting them firmly in space: my own talismen. They keep me company when I’m lonely, remind me of the richness of my life and are markers of my place, in time, on this earth.

When I was a young woman I was interested in the stories of my family. I remember sitting with my Aunt Helen, whose memory bank was rich and deep, and asking her questions about our family history. Precious time spent, indeed; Helen died soon after and had I not written those stories down, they would have disappeared. The stories, the small mementos; the tokens and treasures saved in taped up boxes under the eaves explain much of who we are and play a part in what comes next.

We pass our stories on from one generation to the next whether intentionally or not. In our behavior, in our demeanor, in how we treat each other, we pay our lives and our loves forward, and our actions and reactions reverberate through time and into all our connections. It’s the best of what we share. And when the attics and basements are cleared out, it’s what we really have.

A Case of You…

2011-09-30T03:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it’s in reaching back to the touchstones in my life that I find my way forward…

I’m sitting at my computer working on a design drawing. It’s almost midnight and yet again as I’m preparing for a presentation Joni Mitchell is singing in the background. And I’m thinking: nothing’s really changed; two lifetimes ago I was doing exactly this thing to this very same song. The design is a bit more complex and technology may have simplified the process, but inherently, in my heart and soul, I am still doing what I did, with the same passion, the same intensity and the same emotions that I had when I first heard “A Case of You”.

Loves have come and gone and come again in my life- including and especially my children who remain at my center; but the connections of creativity and passion- love, music, design, ideas- still intersect in my heart and soul. My daughter’s daughters dance with me now. I am a woman with time and experience under my belt, but in the center I remain…..me. The “me” I already was those many moons ago has changed very little.

I was driving home talking with a close friend about the things in our lives that “drive” us. She heard a theory that very often our earliest memories are a precursor to what we end up doing in our lives. In my case that’s quite true, and I wrote about it- the “yearning” created by seeing artists in my old neighborhood is a direct link to my eventual work. I’ve always painted and drawn, and my design work is directly related to a love of visual expression. And the insistence of my teachers, parents and everyone else that I would never be able to make a living through “art” was totally misplaced. It’s all I’ve ever done, and I’ve managed quite well, thank you. More remarkably, I still love what I do. And when one has to spend at least three quarters of one’s life working at something, it’s pretty important to follow our passions.

But what is more fundamental to me is that I don’t feel any different. I’m still that girl with Joni singing my song. Oh, I’ve added and subtracted, won and lost, cried and kissed, gotten glasses and a new hip. But I’m still me. Not much has really changed.

Somehow I thought it would be different- I thought that time and experience would add up to…..something. Some magical wisdom, some experiential cognizance that could only come with all the hurt, loss, love, survival and growth that comes in a life lived over half a century. Really? Time is irrelevant. Experience is in the moment, and the reverberations of my story may have impact, but I am still that girl. I just look (a little) older.

I live my life with great appreciation for its brevity, for the colors that unfold; with joy for the songs that get sung and sorrow for those unsung; with an unquenchable curiosity for what can happen next and with a marvelous and never-ending sense of wonder at the surprise that life… is. No innocence in that- I’ve experienced much of the worst that life can bring our way, and much of the best, from the dreaded nadir of hurt and loss to the exhilarating zenith of birth and rebirth. One can’t exist without the other and I prefer to live with as much awareness as I can muster for both.

And I can still- miraculously, blessedly, with great thanks- fall in love. I can still get past my sorrows to see magic in another sunrise, sunset, ocean view, falling leaf. Just like children, there aren’t two alike, but my awe in their beauty is the same. I still, with great fortune, love the process of design- of finding solutions, of creating harmonies and seeking simple solutions in what I do.

We lose, we gain and our lives are most blessed by the happy accidents and intersections that make us feel. And sometimes it’s the great sorrows that remind us what that means. Do what you love, live with your dream and life will continue to renew itself.

Tomorrow morning I’ll look at the sunrise again. I’ll play Joni Mitchell and sing along as if I was 15. Because, really, when you get past the façade, I still am…

Fall…(ing)

2011-08-26T07:01:00.000-07:00

Today I picked up my first fall leaf. I hate that about August; just as I’m getting into the groove, loving the warmth of midsummer sun, I wake up to a chorus of crickets and cicadas in the morning. The shadows start to get longer and I sense the end of…something. And I hate endings.

I’ve always found the end of summer poignant, and this year it’s feeling more so than ever before. I’m not sure why; maybe it’s that it’s two years since my very first blog post; maybe it’s that this is traditionally the time when summer ends, school starts and in the “wake” (yes, ironic word, that) I feel a sense of time passing too quickly. Maybe it’s that my oldest granddaughter is joining that stream of schoolchildren (yes, school. yes, granddaughter. when did that happen? wasn’t that her mother starting?) Maybe it’s just that I feel time’s passage and- more than New Year’s- I measure the changes in my life and feel the endings in those shadow’s length. Renewal and rebirth.

In these past two years my family was blessed with a second granddaughter- one whose spirit is amazing, powerful; full of laughter and energy. Emma has brought our family great joy and renewal of her own particular brand.

In these past two years I rebuilt a floundering career and found many new friends; saved my house and painted new colors on the walls; got stronger, clearer, and a lot more self accepting. I dealt first hand with the ramifications of my own shortcomings and saw my way through some challenging moments. I had to let go of some things to allow for the new, but the strength in that has borne a new confidence that is unfolding every day.

Sum gain, no question. But always….poignant. For every gain there was a loss. After all, there’s only so much that can go on the scales of life and keep it balanced. Right?

This was an amazing year for me- one of precious self- examination and growth. It started last summer with preparation for a new hip and ends with yoga teacher training. Not so bad, really. It’s been a year of enormous personal growth and the beginning of two new adventures that have already altered my life significantly; both are manifestations of parts of my center that I was clearly seeking and I sense that the direction in which they are taking me is exactly right for me. But to allow these new directions to manifest, I had to change some central things in my life. Redesign and renovation at the core. True “interior” design…

And not unlike renovation, the biggest thing that has to happen to allow for new directions in our lives is to let go of the things that are no longer useful to us- ideas, beliefs, prejudices, the mistakes we’ve made, the roads that brought us to dead ends. Those dead ends are powerful teachers, the losses and mistakes only signals for new directions; the renewal and rebirth that comes with shedding our skins every seven years. Not unlike renovation, one has to see past the “stuff” we’ve accumulated to see what can be done; putting all the old junk to the curb of consciousness and clearing out the attic of the brain.

Today we’re all hunkering down for a hurricane- putting things in order, stocking up in anticipation of this storm, the unknown. We don’t know what it will bring, what damage can be wrought in nature’s intensity. We’ve had a lot of that this year- cataclysmic reminders of what can come and go in a moment. All the more reason to love what we have, where we are, who is with us, right now. Today.

As I end this year on my own “circadian” calendar, I think of what’s ahead and anticipate great things. If I’ve learned anything these last two years it’s that in the anticipation of good we manifest it. Seems like for years I was waiting for “happily ever after” and finally realized it was mine to write…

So I did.

The Test of Time…

2011-06-30T20:59:00.000-07:00

It’s close to midnight on the last day of June and I look up and think- damn! I’ve posted every month this year and here I am, too much to do and losing sight of the bigger picture. Which is…what?

I am busy again. Blessedly, exhaustedly and happily buzzing away at projects, meetings, specifications, budgets, contractors, decisions, digressions, disasters, and the process of…..Design and Build. And while it is all wonderful and I am thrilled? Life's lessons are easily lost when the pain recedes; we (read I) have a great capacity to forget or diminish the difficulties. And these recent years have been full of lessons; learned once, and once again, and then another time; this time not to be forgotten. Most important is what survived and what helped me to survive.

The things that stand the test of time: those things that survive from year to year, through the hard days, through the losses and gains and heartaches? Iconic structures of the heart and mind: Corbusier’s Ronchamp Chapel, Gothic Cathedrals, Roman aqueducts…the gardens that regenerate despite (or perhaps because of) our neglect; the places and people that remain in our hearts and minds over time, space and distance. And in these time, the real stuff of my life: people who have shared in these challenging years as we helped each other pour new foundations on scorched ground. They are the bigger picture; the connections with structural integrity, built to last. And as we come through these years, they are the people with whom I find myself sharing in my future direction, both personally and professionally. We’ve survived and grown together.

Because, in the end, after all the singed wings of the last three years, all the struggle and worry? What was forged in difficulty was forged with the inherent tensile strength to withstand impediments and trials, figure out what matters, sift and sort through detritus to the heart and soul of what is real. These are the foundations of my future. Forged, indeed.

As I sit in my backyard drinking wine on another endless summer night, friends at my side, grill embers circling smoke to keep the bugs at bay; wine in my hand, fireflies blinking in the darkness, worries suspended in the softness of June dusk and soft laughter, I know what is really important… it is all here, and has withstood the test of time.

Summer nights have a magic that feels as if it will last forever, and the best of life is present in those backyard moments shared through the gentle hum of friendship and conversation. Happy July 4th, my friends. Let’s make our own fireworks….

Surfaces…

2011-05-31T20:13:00.000-07:00

Last week I finally got back to the Adirondacks to see the (almost) completed results of a project I started last winter. It was one of those moments when I realized how lucky I am to do what I do.

I didn’t always feel that way.

What I do for a living is not necessary. About as critical as “couture”, interior design is hardly in the realm of life support. And in the midst of these last lean years I’ve questioned, with good reason, why I didn’t pick a more substantive career; one less vulnerable to economic fluctuations and fashion’s folly, one that actually “makes a difference”.

It’s all about mindset, of course. My mother, born and raised on a farm in upstate New York in the midst of the Depression (“Great” as opposed to the current one), planted clear values of what was important in life: people first, ideas next and things last. My father, child of immigrants, was the first in his family to go to college and he concurred. The underlying message was that the work we do should “give back” in some way- medicine, social work, teaching are all respected professions in my family. Extracurricular interests tended to athleticism rather than arts; teamwork over individual achievement. The underlying message was one of social responsibility and connection to people. I hold to those values- they helped me build a life foundation that is solidly grounded. But I also value creative expression and know that the world is a better place for the addition of color, form, texture and ideas that are personally responsive to who we are. I’ve also come to see that the “stuff” of life can reflect that as well- from the doorstopper that was in my grandmother’s house to my father’s stethoscope to my favorite morning coffee mug; shallow objects at first glance, fraught with personal meaning.

The process of regenerating one’s environment can be transformative in ways that can feed the center of our souls; our homes and businesses can become expressions of our inner spirit and reflective of our beliefs. It’s not all fluff: what we present to the world is a projection from inside to out. Spaces that are loved and cared for reflect that love and a sense of being cared about. Seems simple. And the objects we accumulate reflect the things that matter to us- as much about ideas as the books on our shelves.

Simple examples: a crucifix on a wall or a Buddha in the garden is informative. A gnome on the front lawn is as well. Take that same gnome on a journey around the world, photograph “him” and write a book…? Transformative.

Hence the pleasure of my trip to Glens Falls to see the results of that special project begun last fall. My clients are collectors with heartful perception; their belongings- paintings, pottery, sculpture, books- are talismans of their life together: storytelling in visual form. In their basement was a remarkable collection of photographic portraits she took in Bhutan, and the stories she recounts about each person echo from her heart and soul a connection to the world at large; his pottery is remarkable as well- reminiscent of Japanese pottery, its speaks of their connection to the literal earth of their gardens and the metaphorical earth of their travels. All of this was lost in a lovely sea of chintz, their remarkable landscape hidden from view by elaborate “window treatments” that governed the view like a 1970’s schoolteacher.

The goal of our renovation, changing surfaces only, was to take back these rooms and make them reflective of a different time, lifestyle and personal expression. It is successful- replete with Bhutan photos and Adirondack clay, the walls, windows, and furniture sing in harmony with their collection. My happiest moment in many years came when they told me how they “live” in their house now: rooms once abandoned to Schumacher sparrows have become favorite nesting places for afternoon reading and garden bird watching. I couldn’t be happier.

Lesson: stuff speaks from our souls and tells stories just as loudly as books. Surfaces tell the story of who we are in ways unexpected, even to me, a painter. Using them in personally expressive ways creates home. And that’s a key part of our well-being, not surface at all.

Full circle to my own house: in the leanness of these last few years I wasn’t ready to tackle grand plans, and as a result put off some minor but critical repairs. Last week, as my little garden came to full bloom and my last child flew the coop, I looked at my house anew and saw that it isn’t as sadly neglected as I felt. Maybe it’s the waist high irises, but it actually has a sort of shabby softness that just needs a few tweaks to make it charming. I decided it was time to fix that front door and make it speak of welcome, connection and sun. The can of red paint is sitting there waiting for this weekend. My new storm door protects, screens, lets in air and sunlight and is the portal through which those I love enter my nest; I decided it should be worthy of Passage. Small, subtle messages of caring and connection perhaps, but potent nonetheless.

It really is the little things that make a difference.

laundry room…

2011-04-25T18:53:00.000-07:00

Every so often something happens to make me smile at the whimsy of the universe; those serendipitous things that drop in our laps and change everything. I’ve been thinking about that, and wondering: chicken or egg? Do we just notice and respond because we’re in tune to them, or are these events really some magical, synergistic response from the world at large to the cues we’ve been sending out? Or, more simply- are they just the final happy accidents that come from effort expended?

Not sure, but all seems to be coming into alignment in my little world. The harbinger of happiness came in the form of, of all things, a laundry room. Hardly the “call to arms” one would expect to signal the end of a long, dark and challenging time, but there it is: the dirty socks of positivity, in darks, lights and delicates.

The story started with a surprise phone call about a month ago from a woman who had my card and didn't know how she'd gotten it; she sounded slightly desperate. Debbie Raia introduced herself and asked me if I'd be interested in participating in the Stately Homes showhouse, an elaborate fundraiser for the Visiting Nurse Association of Central Jersey that happens every two years in the posh provinces of Monmouth County. Hmmm.

For those who have no knowledge of showhouses, it’s not unlike a designer’s version of putting on a play; broken down into “scenes” (rooms), multiple designers are given a space to showcase what they can do, no holds barred. A very generous, good natured and slightly crazy homeowner hands over her large and elegant home for this purpose, and the results are staggering. Glamour abounds- elegance, colour, drama, crystal and really great design. The work is inspiring, the commitment and creativity is astounding, and it’s a great honor to be included in any regard. Interested? Absolutely!

So, off I go to meet Debbie, who is frantically scrambling to find someone to take on lost corners of the house. In particular… the Laundry Room. A dank, dark cave at the bottom of the stairs, subject to seepage, with water stained peastone walls, it was an unwanted and forlorn mess. I, foolish me, thought: HOW FUN! Cleaning up the muddy and mundane? Right up my alley: a space to be saved! A homespun home of clothespins, steamers and a plethora of wrinkles unraveled. In my mind's eye I saw a strange sort of domestic poetry composing itself. But- wisdom prevailed; I'd need massive help to make it happen. Because from my head to finished product there was clearly much work, little time and no money.

My first calls were to my favorite miracle workers: a team of three men whom I may marry. I could dream anything, but who was going to get this sucker built, by donation and in a month? I needed, and got, my Dream Team: George Weston, contractor extraordinaire, perfect skeptic, never satisfied with “good enough”; he will rip it out and redo rather than settle for just "OK", always with a smile and a sarcastic joke; Tom Casale, cabinetmaker to the stars, who stayed up nights and weekends, worked through illness and his 15th wedding anniversary (I am so sorry, Alisa!) to put together way more and better than I hoped; and Patrick Marando, master of artful applications, whose icing on the cake and gilding on the lily makes the space sing in layers, tangents, and a few little gemstones. All three gladly (hah, if they only knew) volunteered their time, talents and pocketbooks to put together my little attempt as whimsy in the cave.

This is my first showhouse and I am awed by the process- by the incredible talent and energy of the VNA women putting this together; by the creative energy of the designers, painters, carpenters, electricians, landscapers, artists, and on and on and on… The planning is extraordinary and the VNA committee runs it with the organizational skills of a small corporation, the patience of kindergarten teachers and the goodwill of concierges in grand hotels. They are masters in the great art of cajoling, problem solving, cleaning up, dishing out and getting it done- all with a smile. I am impressed, and proud to be part of the process.

But the best outcome of this process, as always, is creating something from nothing- meeting people, meeting deadlines and making this dark little space smile. And doing so with some pretty extraordinary people. I loved it, every minute of it- the schlepping and painting and sanding and scrubbing and coaxing; the ridiculous deadlines, the playful banter on site, the slight panic when I realized we had (not even) days left. I’m surprised by just how much FUN it actually was. I feel like I just went through the spin cycle and am hanging out to dry.

I’m thinking, this is design at its heart: with the right mindset, the right people in our lives and a little openness to the universe, even something as mundane as the basement laundry room can become…magic.

My little pea-stone lined corner of the world, decked out in Tropicana Cabana, will be open for public viewing on May 3. Come visit! It’s down from the kitchen, first door on your right. You can’t miss it, look for the clothespins.

For those interested in visiting this Wonder on the Navesink, visit the website for information:

http://statelyhomesbythesea.com/

Reality Check…

2011-03-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

I’ve had a particularly busy day today, one which started with me standing on the edge of the ocean, pondering the past year. It’s my birthday, and I think birthdays are a great time to tally up the psychic spreadsheet. Today’s turned out to be particularly poignant.

I woke up feeling extraordinarily lucky- my little slice of world in “order”; business regenerating, health excellent, friends and family in harmony; I realized my schedule was tight but wanted those ten minutes to drink a cup of coffee by the beach, as rivers of good wishes poured into my life. I took a picture of a decidedly turbulent, translucent sky melting into frenzied waves to share with my well-wishers on Facebook, a soft and misty start to my day. Lucky woman.

As the news of the day unfolded, I realized just how lucky I am, and perspective came clear as the world watched earthquake devastation in Japan and braced for its aftermath around the entire Pacific Rim; force of nature on a scale hard for me to wrap my mind around. In my own small world, it is a reminder that life is fragile, what we build can fall down, who we love can go away and, that at the end of the day, every day- not just birthdays- we need to stop and celebrate the good in our lives.

Corny? Yes. But I think back on that angry ocean in Long Branch this morning, and realize just how tame it was compared to the quiet, sunlit, deadly tidal surges on other shores; aftermath of an earthquake so relentless that its energy made its way under water to our coast and wreaked havoc half the earth and an ocean away from its birthplace.

Today I was on a job site as the contractor tore out a room and we debated what stayed, what we would salvage and what would go in the dumpster. I love that moment in a project- it’s all about possibilities: getting rid of what doesn’t work, preparing for the new. Building, whether physical or psychic, is part of the fabric of my life, and rebirth and reconstruction an inherently creative expression of life at large.

In the coming days the people of Japan will move from shock and turmoil; they will mourn, clear away debris and rebuild. They, in particular, are a nation accustomed to nature’s devastation and have lived with- and built for- this precarious place that is their home. And those of us who are not adjacent will watch the films in dismay, perhaps send a check or say a prayer, and then get back to our lives, mostly untouched by this tragedy.

So I end this day with gratitude for what I have; and with a clear sense that my own choices reverberate in the world at large, through conscientious interconnection; whether its on a job site, or a yoga mat, with friends or in the parking lot at Trader Joes on a Saturday afternoon in spring. Tsunamis of a smaller sort can change the tone of how we work and live.

My thoughts and prayers go to those who are suffering today, particularly in Japan but elsewhere in the world, as I am blessed with such a wealth of love, warmth and safety in my life, and the opportunity to continue to build.

Faith…

2011-02-15T12:21:00.000-08:00

Not a word that rests easily on this “lapsed Catholic” girl’s lips, but one that came up recently in a much different context from my childhood catechism classes.

Last weekend I went to a yoga “Inversion Workshop” with my teachers, Christian and Tim. If anyone was going to help me slam through this particularly frustrating wall, they would- they are amazing, and have been immeasurably supportive to me in the months since my surgery. I was absolutely certain that this was it: this was the day, the time and the place where I would wrestle the twin demons of forearm and hand stands to the ground and emerge triumphant, joyous and…independent.

Hah. Not to be.

Seems the Universe at Large had a bigger lesson for me; one involving things more intrinsic to my growth in all regards than whether I stand upside down with ease. Because, as Christian pointed out at the start of the workshop: the opposite of “fear” is “faith”, and in that I am quite shaky at times. This isn’t about strength, or courage or direction- or even confidence. I have oodles of those. This is a quiet core that simply…believes.

The last couple of years I’ve journeyed through a professional “whiteout” that left me questioning just about everything. Not a bad thing, but it upset (as in: turned over for examination) my sense of equilibrium. Where there had always been a steady development in both accomplishment and direction, here was a crash of major magnitude that pushed me to reexamine my definition of “success”. Hard to find faith when the phone doesn’t ring and there’s nary a client corroborating my professional “fabulousness.”

Fortunately, into the fray fell a few special projects and- more critically- remarkable people who added to my world and challenged my growth at exactly the right moments, in just the right ways. A time for personal expression and expansion, of small victories and celebrations, and of simple accomplishments; it was also a time to realize that “support” is not a sin, that sometimes leaning against a wall is actually a good thing, and that the (right) people in our lives can change everything.

I’m quite happy about how the seeds of these last three years are coming to fruit. The phone is ringing again and life’s pace picks up. The kind of projects that are finding their way to me are challenging, and the people a pleasure to design for. But I’m also plagued by a slight sense of panic: can I do it? Can I make it all work? Have I forgotten how to….manage? I’m finding a fundamental fear of shift, of losing my “balance”, of holding onto this central clarity as life’s demands once again intrude into my calmer being. And the biggest lesson I’ve learned: lean. Just a little, perhaps, but just enough.

As I look back on the lessons of these years, I’m conscious of a heightened ability to question my own preconceptions; from what makes my work have value and what makes a real difference for those to whom I am responsible personally and professionally, to the central story of what makes my life satisfying and complete. I’m seeking “faith” in myself and my sense of direction, “faith” that I will manage the disparate pieces; “faith” that the most important part of my life- always and forever- is the relationships I forge, bridges built across the span of my life; “faith” that I will do my best to make it all work. And “faith” that while I don’t have all the answers, there will be someone to help me find that balance- on my head or in my heart. And I am fundamentally aware that the only way to “faith” is through “trust”.

One day, perhaps, I’ll get into that handstand, all by myself, in the center of the room. For now, I finally see that those walls I diligently tried to ignore are perfectly placed for my support.

I’ll just lean a little longer.

Full Light...

2011-01-13T07:37:00.000-08:00

I have a thing for skies.

Since my hip surgery, I’ve started a new routine, one that the universe timed perfectly for me. It’s remarkable how that happens; just as I was stricken from the mat, a channel opened up for me and, in the way that a shift of simple routine can do, it is having profound impact in my life.

Most mornings I leave my house before dawn for a morning meditation and yoga class not too far from home. It starts with a short, magical journey through towns along the river and ocean. I drive through darkness, across bridges that sluice the space where water and sky intersect; each day varies by the quality of light being born. Midwinter it’s a silent purple black, stars bright and water brooding. As the days get perceptibly longer, the first hint is of a deep orange pulling up the horizon, splicing the intersection with a brilliant hint of washed light.

That connection of water and sky pulls me. Like lovers of the most dramatic kind, they have varied faces. On some mornings, when the weather is most assertive, the sky is wildly erratic, the water an angry gray green and the two are clearly in combat. On softer days, when the sun won’t show itself and the sky is saturated, there seems to be no distinction between the two; the edge evaporates and it’s impossible to discern where air and water begin and end. On those days I know to expect a gentle bath of rain or snow. And today was my favorite kind- a day coming that was to be clear and calm and beautiful, each distinct in its place in the world, dancing together with great harmony; the ocean deep and crisp, the sky softly awakening, clear and calm.

There’s something very grounding for me in the routine of this, and I start to see the subtle variations in life. Not grand, not dramatic, but little shifts that tell the story, that speak of what is my life. It’s about paying attention.

And I was thinking about that today, as I was in this meditative mindset. I’ve been trained to look at the details; my eye is quickly drawn to the interruptions, the cracks and imperfections; the pulls in the sweater, the paint splotch on the floor. My job has been to detect the 1/2” variation and the out of level counter. It’s a part of what I do in all situations, from finishing a canvas to reviewing a job site. My children have noted with irritation that I see the flaws too easily…and that is very true.

Of late I’m accepting that I must be a very bad designer, because those little imperfections are the moments I love best and where I find the most pleasure-they are human and endearing. Of course, I’m not talking about lack of care, but the things we can't help but make imperfectly; the flaws that make them sing of who we are- of the creator, the maker. It’s the reason we still make things by hand…

And while I can be exacting where need be in my business, I am finding tenderness in my life for those things imperfect, like the sunrise over the ocean on my way to sit in darkness with my eyes closed, knowing that when I open them again it will be full light…

new day.

Solstice...

2010-12-22T20:49:00.001-08:00

My son and I put up the tree last night, Vince Guaraldi heralding angels in the background; the solstice and full moon- an amazing confluence made even more magical by a full lunar eclipse. Longest night of the year and the brightest; clear and brilliant view of this rare alignment. A remarkable end to a challenging but…marvelous…year.

They all are, really- if we pay attention. But this one has been particularly special for me for some strange reason. Honestly? If I pull out my “spreadsheet” nothing “grand” happened; my life has been blessed with a few bumps, all negotiable. But those small shifts seem to have brought me to a very different place.

I’ve been “blogging” my way through this recession with the mantra that money is not so important. And I stand by that. We’ve all learned to do with less, to be more thoughtful in our decisions and our purchases and focus on things in life that resonate, that last, that make it matter.

I was at my usual semester’s end architectural juries this week, and one of the words that kept coming up regarding decision-making was “determination”. Great word- simple, cogent. Apt for the design process. Make a commitment, a choice and run with it- whether it seems reasonable or not. Most great ideas seemed a bit sketchy at the onset, didn’t they?

One has to be a little crazy- and a risk taker- to work in a creative field, design or architecture for certain. In the best of economies we do not get rich, and are much blown by economic vagaries. And sitting there last night with my co-creative types- some less employed than myself, others only slightly more- I’m struck by a common thread that continues to weave through our warped minds. We are passionate, single minded and appreciative; we believe that spaces impact how people live in a fundamental way, and we have genuine concern for the process of building. That seems unchanged even when our most exciting recent project was a utility garage. Every one of us there still cares about the process. And that gives me great hope.

Yes, well. There is that silly little nagging and annoying concern about business development. Someone once said, “if you build it they will come”. Hah. I haven’t exactly sat on my hands this year, but there was scant building being done. So? I focused elsewhere and built in other regards. And as we approach the end of 2010 and go into the next decade (really? another already?) I do believe that we are coming through this recession. Changed, yes. And probably for the better. We will prevail. We always do.

A new year approaches, and as it does I consider what I want the coming year to bring. This isn’t about “resolutions”, which always seem to be about fixing something we perceive as negative in ourselves. This is a clear intent about what I want to do, to manifest, to create this year. I’ve found that it actually works- if one lets go of the past and the future and focuses on the possible, all else changes.

So. I am thinking about my “intent” for the coming year. This year was about expanding my little circle- in business and in life, and it actually, remarkably, worked. Healing broken wings, mending, patching, hanging on- and building in other directions. I think I’ll just keep the goals simple and see what unfolds in 2011. Yes, this year is all about that: unfolding. Origami style. Let’s see what can happen if we let life just… be.

To all my friends; far, wide and close by- much love, a merry Christmas, and joy and abundance in the coming year…

and to all, a good night…

Focus…

2010-11-24T06:58:00.000-08:00

It’s a couple of months since I’ve posted, and here we all are, my friends; another full circle on the calendar, the holidays with us yet again. This is always, always my very favorite time of year- it’s magic, and if there’s a lack of that in your universe, just call me. There’s always room for another plate at the table, and plenty for us all.

Frankly, magic was not much on my mind the last few months and so it’s reappearance is quite welcome. I’ve been “inside” for a bit- working through the complexities of life, love and necessity, which made more room for work than inspiration. The good news is that all of the pragmatic processes of the past year are coming to fruition quite nicely, and I think 2010 will be a good vintage: Life is sweet, those nearest and dearest intact and blooming. Fruition and harvest with great bounty, as always anticipated but not always managed. And a little real magic: I am standing on my head once again, through the real miracle of modern technology. Hip healed, life moving on. So. Maybe time for the intangible again…?

I was hunkered down with tasks at hand when a bit of “design esoterica” made me look up, in the form of a blog post by an architect whose many, many talents I highly respect. He was questioning: In the midst of the massive devastation to the design community from the present economic conditions, from whence comes “inspiration”? Are we, have we, in our quest for creativity, focused on all the wrong things? Is design school thinking and teaching, as presently structured, relevant?

Hah- I thought. Leave it to architects to second guess their own creative impetus. I kind of felt like telling him to go size a beam, please. The rest of us have such a firm grip on confidence in this economy, right? But my less flippant response: if school isn’t the place for dreams, then what is? If we can't stretch the sense of the possible there, when will we? Soon enough we deal with the pragmatism of everyday work- and life. We need the dreams to sustain us when our days are filled with tasks at hand, when our lives and careers hit those inevitable, death defying bumps in the road.

There are times of inspiration and others for perspiration. We "creative types" know that better than most, but here it is: in these times we need to (and do) pull the proverbial hood up, hunker down and get the work done. That is the grownup way to deal, and must be. But when your work is based in creative thinking, and one can’t count on inspiration to lead the way through difficult times, what exactly do we do to get the job done? Because our work, when we have it, is grounded not only in pragmatism but in some semblance of creative vision.

Well, here it is: the answer from the gods at large, a proverbial “Fountain of Creative Youth”: Stop focusing on it. Stop thinking about what isn’t, what doesn’t work, what’s broken or stuck; and build on what is, what does work, what is fluid and whole. Creativity, and life, will come full circle in ways most unexpected. Or so it seems; I’ll let you know next year…

Simple, yes? I’ll hold to that thought and squeeze it. Cause next week that elusive thing called clarity will have slid/ slipped away. Yet again. And I’ll be back in the conundrum of life. But hopefully I'll be following that moment of…inspiration...to something new.

Today, for now, let me just say: I’ve stopped thinking about what doesn’t work and turned my attention to what does. I’m taking care of business and not worrying about what I can’t control, or what doesn’t come to me. And after more than half a century of massive confusion about what is or isn’t important, what I should or shouldn’t be doing, it’s been that incredibly simple. Do the work, the rest will follow.

For the last couple of months my attention has been on things tangible and fundamental- making my leg work and paying bills have had star billing in the show of life. The rest seems to be taking care of itself. Thank you, Universe.

Inspiration is a slippery thing. Seems if you try to follow it, it will lead you down blind alleys and through twists and turns that seem insurmountable. But if you just do the work, it all does come together. Maybe not in ways you expected. Maybe even better.

Right now, I can’t do many of the things that worked for me in the past. But this is the time to push past the things that don’t work with the impetus of the things that do. And inspiration is coming from turning my head slightly. It’s just a matter of focus.

Of course, new reading glasses help.

To all my friends: a most magical Thanksgiving. Call me if you’re hungry, for magic or the more mundane… dinner’s at three.

Bridges…

2010-09-21T07:23:00.000-07:00

Or, in the words of Dinah Washington:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmBxVfQTuvI

On September 8 my life changed completely. I knew it would, one way or another.

So, in the month preceding it, I prepared- and I played. I went inside, drew my thoughts together, went into “training”. I decided that preparation was what would make this life-changing event as successful as possible. After years of avoidance, I was getting a new hip. I knew it would be the last time I’d be independently mobile for some time, and decided that in preparation for the inevitable– and presumably very temporary- detachment, I would gather all the best of my world- people, places and things- to take with me into the process of regeneration that was about to begin.

Like my favorite children’s book, “Fredrick the Mouse”, I gathered color and beauty to me for my cave. I spent floating steamy August afternoons sitting on the beach soaking in light and air, flew a kite in Pt. Pleasant crosswinds, ate waffles and ice cream on the boardwalk, jumped through and over waves surprisingly free of jellyfish, dug my toes into the sand and turned my face to the sun. Awesome. Sultry evenings eating crab and mussels with sticky fingers; mojitos and meandering conversations with good friends.

On Labor Day, two days before my surgery, I drove into a deserted NYC for the day. Parked by Central Park, went to MoMA and visited old friends- Cezanne, Brancusi, Miro, Pollack, Motherwell, Diebenkorn and- my personal favorite- Matisse. (see the show- it’s lovely). I went into the garden, a serene space gently walled from the intense frenzy of the city and the museum itself. The fountain is my favorite- a rectangular reflecting pool bridged by a simple slab of white marble. I stood in the middle of the bridge and threw a coin into the water. "A Wish for Wings that Work."

In a last inspired act of self-kindness (and to my daughter’s great amusement), I filled my IPod shuffle with “The Sounds of Anesthesia”- music to inspire, elevate, dream and make me smile through the process- “Spaced Out”, Comfortably Numb”, “Dreaming Tree”…”I Will”. Hah, of course I will. Was there ever a question?

We live in a society where the value of things intangible is questioned. I’ve run into that repeatedly in my life from those who doubt the possibility of building a life doing things that bring pleasure and beauty- art, music, words. My own family, marvelous and grounded pragmatists that they are, have always looked at me a bit askance as the “odd duck” in a pond of productive beavers. Go do something practical. So I did. All practical- including the gathering of light and laughter. Most important for healing.

Certainly, I worked too- put all ducks in rows so that the process would be as smooth as possible and my electric would still be on. Saw clients, sent emails, cleaned house, set up, worked out extra hard. Because, quite frankly, I had no idea what would be on the other side of the bridge… and If I stopped to think about it, I was pretty scared. This was major surgery, after all- and things go wrong all the time.

Fear is a terrible thing- it pushes us to avoid taking the steps in our lives that will bring us to the place we most want to go. Truth is, what we avoid and flinch over settles into the joints; we become more and more inhibited by the restrictions we’ve created- by the narrow range of movement in our lives, whether they be physical or otherwise.

The stamina to take risks; to forge through and across the bridges of life takes resources- psychic Sherpas so to speak to put oneself at the end of the proverbial bungee cord.

My new leg and I are fast becoming best friends. I find myself amazingly, miraculously stronger every day. Partly preparation, partly luck and good genes, and very much the skill and care of the talented people who took apart my broken wing and put it back together. It took a team of dreamers (the inventors of my miracle hip socket) and pragmatists (the PT who kicked my terrified ass into moving) to get me here. And, most critical, the supportive cushion of loving people that I am so very fortunate to have around me. And I won’t discount the power of Pink Floyd.

Of course, all this great insight could be the result of the excellent cocktail of drugs I was blessed to ingest this last week. Don’t think so, this is the result of a year of mindful preparation- designing my life.

In a cool twist, I have new clients who are doing a major renovation and are very focused on disability design- something that all of us Aging Boomers need to keep at the front of our minds, whether for loved ones or our own eventual falls and failings. I am now familiar first-hand with what it means to get to the bathroom at 2 AM when your legs don’t work- and am a much better designer for the experience. Events in our lives aren’t discrete- they interweave, interconnect, inform and reverberate in and through each other- and that’s a good thing.

From the other side of the bridge? I do believe that wish will come true…

A couple of children’s books that inspire me still:

A Wish for Wings That Work: An Opus Christmas Story; Berkeley Breathed

Frederick the Mouse; Leo Leonni

First Harvest…

2010-08-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

It’s a year to the day since I posted my first words on the internet with (just a little) trepidation, wondering what could I possibly have to say that anyone would read (really?) My words were born from the recession; from a moment when I- and all around me- were facing professional freefall at a time in our lives when we were hoping to finally, finally take a deep breath and reap a bit of the reward for all those years of building- both the literal and metaphorical. As I reflect back on this year I am amazed (not for the first time) at how much my little world has been altered by this experience- not only the financial compression, but the verbal expansion. Sharing my thoughts has fostered connections I never expected, with great solace in the (seemingly trite) truth that we’re all in this together; that it’s not so important what we have or where we’re going as it is that we get there together. And how fundamentally important our connections to each other remain- roots and branches.

My first blog started with the premise of abundance- that in the midst of this very lean time we actually have much. Pretty simple, fairly direct. And a call for us all to be conscious of our choices, of what endures- the things that last, the effort, energy and focus to continue when there’s little clarity about what the future holds. To look at what is real and what is fleeting in importance. The foundations upon which we build this time will be stronger for this experience.

Summer’s end is always a bit poignant and wistful for me- my garden that held such promise just a few months ago is now looking a bit tired, and I lose momentum. Seems natural, actually- hard to keep that energy going in 90 degree heat. This year’s garden is a great metaphor for our financial world at large- the harvest that seemed so promising a month ago was decimated by deer just as it came to fruit, and I am left with my basil. Much, much basil. A bounty of basil. A plethora of pesto for this winter? No balance, perhaps but it’s a start……..

My richest harvest this year has been from the seeds of my words- a column, new clients and wonderful friendships that have begun to bloom in this garden of shared experience are tangible and remarkable reflections of what can grow out of struggle and challenge- sprouts in the soil after the forest fire.

Buddhist teachings speak of learning to accept and ride the waves of life: Maybe, maybe not. Apparent struggle is usually about rebirth in the cycle of life, and what appears to be tragedy can in truth be blessing. Maybe. Maybe not.

To a rich and fruitful harvest at the center for us all……in this coming year and beyond.

Targeting Frugality…

2010-07-27T13:20:00.000-07:00

Interesting note: for a couple of days last week the most emailed article in the New York Times was entitled: “Shoppers on a Diet Tame the Urge to Buy”. Hmmm. Intriguing, I thought, given that my business is all about consuming on a large scale.

Or is it? What, pray tell, is design?

More than any other year in my memory, this one has given me lots of time and impetus to think about that- seems like assessment is the perfect way to ride the wave of recession. I started where I always like to start:

The Dictionary:

design:

a. To conceive or fashion in the mind; invent

b. To create or contrive for a particular purpose or effect

c. To create or execute in an artistic or highly skilled manner.

OK, I hand selected- there are oodles of definitions for “design” in multitudinous online dictionaries, and I could get deeply involved in a semantic debate about the meanings. But not one of them involves “Stuff”. Solutions, Problem Solving, Creativity, Conception. Not Accumulation. And not Consumption.

The Times article was prompted by a very interesting website: http://sixitemsorless.com/ , which involved a challenge to pare down one’s wardrobe to- surprise- six items or less. A quick read of the website says it is not a statement about consumerism, and interestingly, that it has no “agenda”, just putting it out there and looking to see what happens.

My thought? A sign of the times.

I was in Target this week and caught myself doing a very interesting thing- one which a Facebook friend recently commented on, most notably regarding Harmon Stores. I went in for a couple basic necessities- light bulbs, detergent, coffee filters. I did what I always do- took a shopping cart. Why? Because clearly in any given trip to Target I will be mesmerized and need a cart. I know myself in Target, and Target knows me well- the light bulbs are buried in the back corner furthest from the entrance; the detergent is caddy corner to that on the opposite end, And in between? Mountains and mountains of colorful, lively, enticing, sometimes useful- but largely superfluous……stuff.

Sure enough, I stood at the front of the store preparing to check out with at least three extra things in my cart. I chuckled and thought about the whole concept of “Six items or Less”. What if I apply that principle to my life? To design? Paring down in life and in art, myself and my work? I put back the extra stuff and bought the very things I went in for (total:4). Whew. Pennies saved? Yes, maybe- but it’s a start.

And this is a sign of the times, no? When our credit is tight and our jobs at risk, a clear sense of what we need can be applied to all aspects of our lives, from Target to travel. We buy too much, throw away too much and use too much stuff. Defining what we want and how to get it seems all the more important when there’s no room for waste.

I recently designed a home theater for clients- hardly the model project for frugality. But, in truth, it would have been easy to do more, buy more, spend more- and in other times we probably would not have watched the meter so closely. These clients are excellent “shoppers” and hate to waste money, and I am perfectly paired with that philosophy- particularly these days. So let’s bring on the ideas, not the stuff. Let’s work towards Applied Frugality: using materials, thoughts, time- and life in general- wisely and with creativity.

As I come full circle in my first blog year, I’m thinking that this recession is not going to end any time soon, and instead of whining like a teenager who lost my allowance, it’s time to remember the wisdom of my parents who grew up and hit adulthood in that earlier Magnitude 10 “Recession”. Choose well and have less- it will mean more.

For the Times article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/22/fashion/22SIXERS.html

and for its inceptor:

http://sixitemsorless.com/

Day Lilies…

2010-06-25T05:03:00.000-07:00

I’ve been spending a lot of time (well, relatively speaking) in my garden the last couple of weeks. June is good for that- everything looks and feels fresh, and the colors are at their most vibrant. The rabbits and deer haven’t yet decimated my hopes (this year I planted enough for us to share, I hope). Not unlike a newly framed house before the sheathing goes up, anything seems possible. I spent a lot of time at the local nurseries, browsing, wandering…and cautiously, frugally choosing a few new perennials to flesh out my little beds. It’s a haphazard looking garden, no order to it- herbs, flowers and food commingle, looking for just the right light. Here I find myself being purely responsive, shifting bits and pieces from one spot to another, playing shapes and colors off of each other, no particular pattern or order- not unlike the way I paint. Here I can let go of the planning, the systems, the structure and organization that is so necessary in my design work. Here I can just watch stuff grow.

But the designer is never far from the surface, no matter how much I’d like to be loose. So I keep moving things and I’m damned if I can figure it out. Plants are not so cooperative; they have a mind of their own. For all my meddling, I am constantly- and happily- surprised; what I thought would be spectacular never quite gets there and something else I entirely missed is amazing.

It’s very humbling digging in the dirt. There are successes for certain, but mostly things seem to grow, take root and bloom at their own pace and in their own time- not unlike my children. And perhaps that’s the best of life, and the lesson for me is to be less of a designer and just be a facilitator, sit back and smell the roses for real.

Right now I have this spectacular day lily- coral and pink; deeply, extravagantly beautiful, with a dozen or so buds to make anticipation of its continuing bloom for the next few weeks enough to draw me, coffee mug in hand, to my yard every morning. It’s a lovely, transient thing; backed by an abounding bloom of lavender, its transience perhaps makes it all the more poignant, a little sad and special- a gift to cherish in the moment. Gardens are like that.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own approach to design, and through that frame to the bigger picture of life and love at large. The challenges of these past two years have changed me like no others in my life, and I feel I am coming full circle- as hopefully we all are- through the experience of planting seedlings in shallow soil; some take, some don’t, some are thorny, some add color. I’ve done a fair amount of weeding as well, but find that many of the weeds are actually flowers themselves. Trite? Maybe. But axioms are rooted in truth, are they not?

My conclusion? I get to play, but the garden isn’t really mine- it has a life all its own. But for sure in the digging, I've found my own roots...

Chutzpah…

2010-06-01T08:23:00.000-07:00

I’m not normally a big TV watcher, but lately that’s shifted a bit and I’m finding some pretty cool stuff. Not a big fan of “reality”, TV or otherwise; nor do sitcoms or cop shows make the cut. I generally head for the documentary channels first, and last week chance brought me to a terrific documentary about the George Washington Bridge.

For some reason I’ve been thinking about the GWB a lot lately. I’ve lived in the circumference of NYC my entire life and have always loved that bridge. One of my very first memories is driving south on the Henry Hudson Pkwy and my Aunt Norma telling me to wave to George and Martha living up there, at the very top of the east tower (if you squint just right you will see them, of course). I would look very hard for them and wave with just a little skepticism. Now I cross it weekly to see my own granddaughters who live five minutes away in Harlem (upper deck preferably, I have my system in place). I’ve traveled over the GWB probably fifty times a year over half a century, been tortured in extraterrestrial traffic jams, bemoaned a forgotten Yankee game and marveled at the view in both directions. I‘ve admired its beauty as an object- how it spans the river; the contrast between the urban New York side and the pastoral Palisades in New Jersey. I’m designer enough to get excited by how the odd asymmetry in its connection to the earth on each side is a physical manifestation of that dichotomy. But I took it for granted, as we do so many of the incredible man-designed, man-built monoliths among us in this place where building has always been scaled for giants.

Watching the history of its construction, I was more and more amazed by the brilliance, prescience and pure chutzpah of those who built this bridge. To create a structure capable of carrying millions of pounds of weight in shifting and complex conditions every day for 70 years; to see future and build in capacity for expansion to double the volume, to do so in the age of slide rules, and to make it something so incredibly beautiful takes nothing less than New York scale balls. And a New York story it is.

Othmar Ammann, an émigré from Switzerland and a Port Authority employee, was the engineer responsible for the GWB and many others of note in our amazing region- the Verrazano, the Bayonne and the Whitestone are also credited to him. Clearly he was a man who was inspired beyond the ken of the rest of us normal and average thinkers. In true New York fashion, the back story of power brokering and posturing is an interesting one, but what struck me in this story was that- unlike the “Robert Moses” of the world, or the “Donald Trumps”- until now I have never heard his name. A quiet and reserved man with remarkable vision, a biographer described him as someone who intuitively understood and….felt…how bridge structures function.

It’s that “feeling” thing that stopped me. Because that’s exactly the key, isn’t it? When experience intersects with instinct to overrule “good judgment”, when we know in our gut what is right- despite all appearances to the contrary, despite all arguments against it. When we see the tree- clearly- within the forest…and have the confidence to know it’s the tree. When we build the bridge that by all accounts is foolish…

In design- as in life- there is intuition. Some of us have it for structural or spatial decisions, others for business or science. Malcolm Gladwell wrote most eloquently about the root of intuition in “Blink”- that gut feeling we follow when we know a truth from somewhere in our center despite the odds against it. One of those interviewed in the program on Ammann pointed out that others have followed his logic and his formulas only to find failure. It’s like watching a great athlete or performer- there is that extra modicum of “mojo” that takes it beyond the ordinary, and you know it when you see it.

1931 was a challenging year- not unlike what we are going through right now; the financial collapse three years earlier had left tremendous insecurity and financial suffering in its wake. Interestingly, both the George Washington Bridge AND the Empire State building were completed that year. And even more interesting? Both of them were completed on time and under budget.

Point of contrast? In 1940 “Galloping Gertie” (so christened by construction workers) was born across the Tacoma Narrows in Washington. She lasted four months before one of the most spectacular bridge failures in history; it took 10 years to rebuild and a mere 40 for her capacity to be overstrained, requiring another parallel bridge to be built.

So? here’s my thought about all of this. Tough times bring creative solutions and less room for either waste or foolishness; financial leanness means there is little margin for error and much need for that creativity, and these times give birth to great ideas that last. It’s the chutzpah to channel resources, the mojo to see past the present struggle and the moxie to take the risk that will build a better bridge.

Gotta love New Yawk.

For a great clip of the Tacoma bridge collapse:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mclp9QmCGs

Headstands…

2010-04-27T05:33:00.000-07:00

This is without a doubt my favorite time of year. As spring’s defrost button melts light and earth, and color returns to outdoors blasting lime green, soft pink and vibrant forsythia yellow, I shrug off blankets, both literal and figurative. I used to love winter- still do for a bit, but its charms wear thin by about December these days, and for the first time I actually “get” the concept of the “snowbirds.” (oh dear…do I see early bird specials in Ft Lauderdale looming in my future??) I welcome this time of open windows and chilly nights, somewhere between frost of winter and promise of summer. My heat still kicks on occasionally, but that’s just fine- the best is yet to come. There is something magical in that smell of wet earth and possibility (once it wasn’t coming from my basement) and my brain begins to thaw as I come full circle with the cycle of the seasons.

I’ve been thinking about the nature of creativity and the challenges we come up against when we hit road blocks in life or work. I was thinking, actually of the whole concept of “road blocks”. Although I’ve been writing, my blog’s been at a standstill for the last couple of months while I tended to other business, much of which was pretty uninspiring- and uninspired. So to “jumpstart” my sense of the possible, I escaped to the Catskills for a remarkable opportunity to take a deep breath, remove myself from “figuring everything out”, and just spend a few days breathing and listening. No decisions, no computer or phone, no work, no sump pumps or problems. Just listening….and breathing- with some pretty inspiring people. I recommend this kind of moment to all- a break in the action.

I hate road blocks. I will howl against them, dig at them and crowbar them, pick at them and relentlessly focus on them when up against them. This time I decided to let my roadblock sit there, not try to get around it or climb over it; just lean against it like an old friend, pop open an imaginary beer, raise my eyes to the sun, wait and see what happened next. For a change, I figured I’d shut up and listen. Hah. Not a strength of mine…

What I began to realize in this past year is that the people who get where they want to go don’t perceive road blocks in front of them. I, on the other hand, see them like a steeplechase course in which I’m a little pony surrounded by Appaloosas. Those damned blocks which loom in my life like ten foot brick walls are somewhere in their peripheral vision, so life takes them where they want to go despite all the obstacles and problems. They just head in that direction.

One of my roommates in the Catskills was a woman whose story crystallized that thought for me. Beautiful both inside and out, she grew up on a kibbutz in Israel and as a young woman was in NYC for a visit. While there, for no apparent reason, she read the “Tibetan Book of Living and Dying” and at the end knew exactly what she needed to do next in her life. She investigated college programs, booked a flight to Colorado, showed up at an admissions office mid-summer with no application, no visa and no money for tuition, and told them she planned to go there in September. She did, and spent the next five years studying with the some of the “best and the brightest” in the field of her dreams.

Hmmm. How to bottle a little of that sauce, I wonder?

What seems to happen to me when the blocks show up is that confidence drains through this little passage at the base of my neck-drip, drip, I can feel it slipping away until every idea I have looks shallow, dull or just plain boring, only to be discarded. So I’ve learned to save those potential gems in a growing file of rough cut diamonds just waiting for the day when perspective returns and my wit and work are remarried.

In the meantime, I’m learning to live with that proverbial elephant- not ignoring it, just letting it rest comfortably with my feet on its trunk. I figure we’re old friends now and it’s much harder to move an elephant than to hug it.

Life transformative moments seem to happen to other people- those brilliant moments of incandescent inspiration that drive them to purposeful exploration. I keep waiting for that to happen, like listening for an echo in a vacuum. While I wait, instead of wasting time I do some stuff like stand on my head and write a blog. And maybe for most of us that’s what life consists of- not that radiant explosion, but just doing the work we love and seeing where it takes us.

Of course I did buy a copy of the “Tibetan Book on Living and Dying.” Hell, who knows? I figure if I spend enough time inverted I'll figure it all out… not unlike a quote I found recently: “overnight success in 30 years.”

What I Learned In Kindergarten…

2010-01-31T07:07:00.000-08:00

With much chagrin and a sense of the absurd I read an article in the NY Times about test preparation programs for entry to kindergarten. Kindergarten. There are waiting lists for these programs in NYC. I dashed off an email to my daughter warning her to, quick, get my two year old granddaughter on the waiting list NOW, lest she miss her window for Harvard! Her response? She’s already having trouble finding her a pre-school for next year, should have started looking before Julia was born. No kidding. Not long ago I had a three year old in my office with her own laptop- great, right? Except she was doing homework. Seriously, what are we thinking? Makes me long for another Maria Montessori...

We’d all like to hearken back to the “good old days” when “children had a childhood.” But the reality is, that’s never been the case. Parents have put pressure on their kids to perform for as long as there have been parents and kids. The good news is that whatever we do, however hard we press, our kids will grow up with their own way of thinking, and that is fortunate. It’s the engine that drives our creativity, that makes for Cooper Hewitt award winners and inspires the rest of us to keep trying.

But the question is, are we fostering that creativity when we’re so focused on quantifying a three year old’s “success”? How far do we push and how young is too young to put them on the treadmill? What happened to play? Are flashcards and math drills really more effective than Play Dough for preschool? And if they are, so what? What’s the cost?

If you have lots of money and a kid who can’t seem to walk that narrow line, you can send them to a private school that fosters a more creative approach to learning (what a subversive concept- learning should be fun!) Some look at these “alternative” schools dismissively, concerned that their unconventional approach is more circuitous and less quantifiable. True, but, oh how I envied their approach as a child, when trying to make my left brain meet my right.

I grew up in Brooklyn, in a neighborhood of brownstones and artists. I was lucky for that unique experience, although I had no idea at the time. My parents- educated, loving and positive- sent me off to a very good Catholic school, blue jumper and all, giving me the best of tools to set me on my path. Alas, I wandered afar- right down the street from our house to a brownstone that housed the Woodward School. In its massive windows hung clotheslines; attached to those clotheslines were enormous sheets of newsprint with an ever changing display of bold, messy paintings hanging like flags of freedom. I walked by those windows every day, yearning, as I struggled to stay inside crisp looseleaf lines. It took many frustrating years until I finally found my voice and figured out how to use it. Those paintings in the window inspired my search- that and the crazy artists roaming that neighborhood, canvases like kites.

Recently I was a panel member for an architectural jury at which two students ended up in tears, partly because of my critique. I felt terrible, and wondered what I said or did to create that much stress. What I perceived as great dialogue, and questions intended to be encouraging, left them feeling overwhelmed and pressured. In truth, their presentations were two of the most intriguing solutions to a challenging project, and two that most engaged the entire group. Afterwards I spoke with them, explaining that they did a great job- they grabbed our attention and made us think twice, much better than the “perfect” solution. And I thought back to my own student days, the power that critical commentary can have in our lives; how withering it can be, or how empowering. Are we teaching our children to think for themselves, or to just give us back the “right” answers?

Positive dialogue about ideas starts when a two year old first picks up a crayon, and teaching a child to find her own voice is critical to learning, to confidence in challenging perceptions, and to creative pursuit in our lives, wherever that may take us. What we stand to miss is that power of "art" is not in the product, but in taking the risk to put forth something different, though-provoking and perhaps unresolved. The most eloquent projects are often the incomplete or imperfect. They're the balls we can bounce around, mull over, fill in, respond to... imagine.

We live in a society that measures everything. We wear monitors when we exercise, carefully quantify our learning, our fitness, our height and weight and breadth and depth. All those Weights and Measures are of value, necessary systems that give structure to our lives. If we didn’t measure, we’d have no means to build a building, know a healthy heart rate, check cholesterol levels, and evaluate who should get into Harvard. But even in science, there’s art in interpretation, and without creative thinking, without critical analysis, without interaction, intuition and instinct we often misdiagnose.

For years we’ve bemoaned the effects of technology and pressure on our children. Some will take to it, others won’t. Some types of creativity are fostered within the lines, others are not. And we can worry about what they learn and what they don’t, but growth and learning happen in their own pace and time, and aren’t limited to the years before the age of 21. Thank God, or I’d still be SOL.

Towards Singularity…

2010-01-12T09:37:00.000-08:00

Curious about the title, what’s up and where we’re headed in design, I made a trip to the Cooper Hewitt Museum in NY for an exhibit called “Design USA: Contemporary Innovation”; a retrospective honoring their design award-winners of the last 10 years. It was quite an experience, and I’m still mulling over the incredible collection of ideas, running the gamut from search engines to sneakers, physicists to plastics. Oh, foolish boy, if Benjamin Braddock only knew…

The categories themselves were intriguing: Craft, Experience, Technology, Materials, Method and Design Mind. Recognition that “design” is a very broad term, “space” is more than what’s between four walls, and “innovation” affects everything.

Of course, architects and designers were recognized, especially for solutions to meet changing spatial and environmental demands. There were imaginative “brownsite” redevelopments, most notably the High Line in Manhattan, and much emphasis on prefab technology, green design and sustainability. But equally lauded were those who think “outside the box” across the board. Nike has conquered sluggish feet with shoes weighed in grams; Aveda, a makeup manufacturer, was awarded for creativity in environmentally sound product and packaging as well as their third world economic contributions. The New York Times graphics department was noted for their interactive media applications- Sunday morning sections may soon go the way of milk delivery. Patagonia’s recycled plastic “fleece” has saved millions of sheep from the indignity of shaving, turning half liters into hoodies. The meeting of mind and material has made for innovations that are changing what and how we produce, and I started to think of how these innovations are shifting our concept and use of space.

Most intriguing were the “interaction” designers who have had such profound impact on all our lives, even for those of us whose only contact with technology is the touch screen at the ATM. Their connections between the digital and the physical realm, ubiquitous in those elegant IPhone applications, are radically changing our means of communication. Being of an earlier generation and far from technologically proficient, I only have the vaguest understanding of how this all works. But the good news is I don’t have to- someone very smart from MIT has my back. I just have to show up and use it.

Little mention in this exhibit of “space” as we think of it, but technological innovation is profoundly impacting how we live, and how our businesses and homes will respond to it. Yes, they are dealing with space as well- abstract space tied more tightly to time and less sensitive to place than we’re used to, but quite pertinent to any discussion of how we live. It’s “space” we didn’t really consider as little as ten years ago, and it’s changing how our physical space functions as well.

I think of my own connectivity; I am “linkedin”, “twittered”, “emailed” “facebooked” “googled”, and that’s before I pick up the phone. Not so long ago, I lost my daughter on a ski vacation and was terrified- now I could call her from the top of that mountain, assuming that she’d answer. I take a picture and email it while finding a restaurant on 145^th Street. All this communication can be intrusive, but it’s a powerful tool for connection, for building business and for exploring ideas. I can work from just about anywhere, talk just about any time- and there’s something quite freeing in that.

I was pushed headlong into my own technological Waterloo about four years ago when working on a project in Georgia. Time sensitivity and construction constraints forced me to make a leap I had for many years resisted- from hand drafting to CAD. The poor guys I worked with can attest that they pushed an 800 lb gorilla over a 10 foot wall- I had to change my entire way of thinking about space and form. Result? Four years later I no longer own a drafting table, having abandoned it for my little Mac Powerbook, and that roll of yellow trace has become wrapping paper. Many a detail was drafted on a Continental tray table and emailed from the arrival gate. The transition changed not only how I design but how and where I work. Coupled with the vast internet library a click away, my “office” has been downsized to any small surface and a chair; add my IPhone, it’s behind the wheel of my car (yes, I know). All else is extraneous clutter that I just can’t seem to help.

Demarcations are shifting and with them the spaces we inhabit. We work nationally and globally in our slippers on the coffee table. And how we design needs to respond to these changes- offices morph, organizing systems adapt, home and play and work intersect in ways we didn’t imagine, all changing the function of our spaces, how we fill them and with that, fundamentally, how we live our lives.

This shift to instant information and immediate response makes me wonder how long before we approach that hypothetical “singularity” where mind and machine finally merge? Doesn’t seem so far-fetched now, we’re only one small step into this world of technology. A generation ago my mother spent her Saturday mornings cleaning kerosene lanterns and went to church with heated bricks under her feet. I stand on a subway platform and plan a vacation, make a bank transfer and download a CD in seconds. And that’s me- what of the three year old recently in my office with her “Princess” laptop? For her it’s already there.

It’s all good, just different. Changing with the times, right? Something to be said for continued adaptation…keeps me young, at least at heart.

Eat, Drink and Be Merry...

2009-12-19T15:55:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting in my kitchen listening to Dave Brubeck’s rendition of “Silent Night” as snow falls into the purple light of dusk. We’re supposed to get a foot; it’s the first time in my fairly long memory that we had snow so close to Christmas and it’s magic. I’m baking cookies, making certain to remember the favorites of each of those I love. A very small gift, crafted from a million pounds of butter and sugar.

This week I was working on two different blog ideas I’ve been thinking about since before Thanksgiving, when, yet again, I got sidetracked. I decided it can wait till the New Year. All those wonderful ideas will be there, and my mind will return to them, less sentimental and refreshed by a break.

I’ve had many reminders this year, yet again, of how fragile life is, how tenuous happiness, how irrelevant success, and how important the fundamental things are that make our lives truly rich and meaningful. And today, as I bake these damned cookies yet again for about the 45^th year in a row, struggle to untangle the lights, plow my way through the packages and wonder why I make myself crazy every year, I know the answer. It’s what I do to let the people I love know that whatever else happens, whatever life brings, we have each other. The spirit of my parents long gone passes on to my grandchildren newly arrived, and traditions form the circle of continuity. That’s a gift to be celebrated in moments of peace and a source of solace in times of struggle. Little else matters.

If design is about anything, it’s about life. L’Chaim…

and Merry Christmas, one and all.

A Little Thanks…

2009-11-21T04:57:00.000-08:00

I was reading and writing, absorbed in ideas, thinking about the “direction of design” when I looked up from my words, saw the date and paused. It’s the weekend before Thanksgiving, I’m the cook this year and I hadn’t really thought about any of it or started to plan. And as my fog lifted, I realized that that’s actually an amazing thing, quite wonderful in fact.

I’m lucky and I try not to take that for granted. My kids still like me and want come home, they like each other, like my friends and don’t really care what gets done or doesn’t. We pretty much have the Norman Rockwell of Holiday Celebrations, whether it’s at home or elsewhere- friends, laughter, too much food and (almost) no meltdowns in the preparation. Which is probably why, lately, it sneaks up on me and I’m unprepared; never painted that room, still haven’t knocked down the wall to make the dining room bigger, haven’t polished the silver or ordered the free range fresh killed organic turkey. As a designer, I know the “devil is in the details”, but on these occasions, of late, they just don’t seem all that important. Sure, I’ll pull out the tarnished silver, dust off the china and it’ll all look and feel like a holiday. Dinner will get cooked, we’ll all sit down, eat too much, drink too much and laugh a lot.

My Zen mindset wasn’t always this evolved. Used to be my type “A” side would kick in big time before the holidays- lists grew lists; rolls had to be kneaded and cranberries strained, at least one pie per person, menus planned, recipes pored over; my fridge overflowed. I would frantically run from work to schools to stores to nights in the kitchen, all to create “Dinner of the Year”. Sure, all that practice has given me an edge, so I can still assemble a reasonably downsized representation of those elaborate productions without too much sweat. But I’m thinking it’s more than that. This year, more than any other, I am most aware of the “big picture”.

The gathered group shifts somewhat each year depending on who’s around, who’s moved, who’s traveling, who’s family in Connecticut decided to host, who’s “left us”, who’s “joined us”, who’s married or divorced. There’s been joy in the additions, sadness in the losses and times when it seemed very, very hard to celebrate. But the datum, the constant, what really matters is that we all stop (on a weekday no less), take a deep breath, look at each other and see the good. Whatever we lost or gained in this year, whatever we’ve struggled with, there is continuity in life and this ritual dinner is a moment to just share. And today I am more aware than ever that what I have is a gift not to be taken lightly.

Much to give thanks for, most important for the people in my life. So, thank you, all of you who read this, those I will see and those I won’t, for adding to my life in ways that have made this year unique and rich in new experiences, and who add to that continuity of connection.

More on design after next week, if I’m not wigged out about Christmas.

The Lessons of Levittown…

2009-11-06T05:09:00.000-08:00

A week or so back I got a call from a favorite client, someone I’ve worked with through many projects over many, many years. This particular call told me just how many- his daughter and son in law are renovating a house and he asked if I could help with their planning. I was honored, touched and a little bit depressed. I’m that old, I’m helping the next generation. There’s a wake-up call.

As I start to work with yet another generation, I’m thinking about changes to our idea of “home” in the span of years from our grandparents to our kids; the kind of houses we plan, build, desire, and remember…

The past fifty-plus years brought radical changes in how and where we live, much of that happening in my own lifetime. I grew up in the city (Brooklyn to be exact), and watched as my childhood friends joined the “diaspora” to the suburbs in the sixties, leaving sidewalk chalk and handball for swingsets and bicycles. That great flight outward was fueled by economic, technological and social changes, not the least of which was a combination of visionary (and insensitive) land development on a grand scale, which turned farmland to subdivisions linked by superhighways, all “driven” by our romance with the car. In the years since those early suburban developments, the shape of our lives has changed, and with that, our dreams of "home."

I was talking to a friend recently about his childhood Christmases at his aunt’s house on Long Island. The biggest room was his aunt’s bedroom. Somehow, magically, on Christmas day, the bed was disassembled and a table for twenty took its place. Now, THAT was a resourceful hostess. Talk about a multi-purpose room. Of course, one wonders where the bed was stashed while they all ate lasagne?

Volumes have been written about the post-war Levittown “Cape”. That first mass-produced “dream house for the common man” (because he could actually own one), was a little more than 800 square feet, included 4 rooms and a bath on the first floor and, if budget allowed, a couple of dormered bedrooms on the second. Coming from an apartment in Queens or Brooklyn, this felt positively spacious. It had a special nook for a TV built into the staircase (presuming you could afford the TV.) If there was a basement, and it was relatively dry, you slapped up paneling and stick-down linoleum and called it a rumpus room (what exactly was the rumpus?) No powder rooms, libraries, family rooms, guest rooms, master baths, dressing rooms; no game rooms, wrapping rooms, media centers, home theaters. No gazebos, no gates, no pool houses, no three car garages. If there was a pool, it sat above ground, leaked and wobbled when 15 kids dove off the metal surround, and the over-chlorinated water killed anything growing within 20 feet. A little crowded? Sure. Imperfect? No question. But it was home.

The American “dream house” certainly morphed over those fifty years, along with our other possessions, and nary a new home in the nineties was built without the requisite Jacuzzi (rarely used because it takes a full tank of hot water unto itself) and a vaulted two story foyer with a chandelier the size of a small helicopter. Just heating that space is an engineering marvel of orchestrated ductwork. Then try furnishing it… sectionals to sleep twelve, armoires like little castles, and baby grand pianos that play themselves because no one had time for lessons. The scale was impressive, and a little daunting. How much was too much? What kind of art, short of a Pollack, fills a 30 foot wall?

Will we rethink the need for that? Apparently we already are- as the “baby boomers” retire and we want less stuff to worry about, we’re downsizing in droves, moving to planned communities and looking for someone else to worry about lawn care. I’m wondering how we’ll “repurpose” those palaces when we’ve all retired to the two bedroom condo in Renaissance Estates…

It’s good that we slow down and think resourcefully. I’m getting a lot of that today from those of us who are finally remembering, yet again, that it won’t always “go up”, and maybe we don’t need it to. But we do need and want our space to be special, functional, and reflective of who we are. So how do we make it that way without doubling the square footage, or without disassembling the master bed a couple times a year? Because clearly there’s a middle ground, and one hopes it’s not the Seventies split level.

I spend a lot of my time renovating those post-war homes- capes, splits, center halls. The edges of the subdivisions have blurred and the sameness that was a hallmark of suburban development fades as successive generations place their imprint on the original “bland box”. It’s a real treat to walk into houses that retain their “fifties” or “sixties” identity and we look to see what can be done to make them work with our lives today.

Lesson one in design school, at least of my generation: form follows function. Some will say that’s dated and debatable, but there is definitely a hearkening back to purposeful design.

But what does that mean? The tendency in tight times is to be strictly pragmatic, but we want more from our homes, or I’d be superfluous. The lesson of Levittown is that we turn the “little boxes on the hillside” into places for personal expression. (Ironically, an untouched Levittown house is now a highly prized museum piece. Who would have thought?) It’s actually great fun to look at the imagination of those transformations- from Greek Revival to Gothic Modern, columns, turrets and all, sometimes on the same house.

We look to our spaces to reflect ourselves, and they say as much about who we are as the car we drive or the clothes we wear. Form and function still do work together; It’s a matter of unifying need and expression, whether it’s picking a paint color or ripping out walls. Somewhere between the Levitt Cape and the McMansion there’s a happy balance that’s big enough to fit our needs, considerate of the environment and adaptable to changes in our lives. Maybe in this next generation we’ll get it right…

Peacocks and Ostriches…

2009-10-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

My son came home with a flyer for one of those ubiquitous self- help seminars, one where you get more in touch with your “inner self”. Hmmmm…..I’m thinking, enough already. I’m pretty damned familiar with my inner self, thank you. In fact, I think I’m maybe a little too “in touch” with her; right now she’s annoying me.

In general, I think of myself as a positive person, and always believed that hard work brings good results. I’ve been through other tough times and recognize that all those trite axioms are true- yes, this too shall pass, yes, there’s always darkness before the dawn. OK, we get it. But so what? Right now I’m tired, I want a sign that things are getting better, and everyone I talk to is feeling the same way.

When the immediacy of hard times makes me more conscious of the bottom line, I’ve often wondered about the value of my work. Art and design seem frivolous, the “peacock” whose purpose is questionable. But as I look for what feeds my soul lately, I see the value that creative thinking adds to our lives, maybe even more now than when it’s easy. It’s all about the outer expression of that interior self, and we all wear way too much black these days.

Leo Leonni wrote a wonderful children’s book called “Frederick the Mouse”. While all the other mice gather nuts and branches preparing their nest for winter, Frederick collects colors, thoughts, words and imaginings. Come February, when the mice have had just about enough of the grayness and sameness of the days, Frederick’s imagination brings light into their cave. That’s the power of art- in all its forms and permutations, it brings laughter and light into our lives. And it’s easy to forget the importance of that when we pull in our belts to hunker down through tough times.

But it’s also easy to hide from the realities of tough situations in pleasures, and that’s the other side of the coin. Strip away the extraneous and we can see how we’ve hidden from some of the challenges in our lives. The stark reality of uncertainty brings mistakes into focus, and the ostrich’s head is in danger of being permanently implanted in the sand. So it’s all about balance. As I finally managed to do a handstand after years of falling over, physical and metaphorical balance seem to be coming little closer. No accident that happens now, as I’m dealing with that merging of art and reality in my life and my work.

In these last couple of years, I’ve been fortunate to have work, but the shape of it has changed. Gone are the grand projects of the past- people just aren’t building those today. It’s a bit like going from full orchestra to soloist. But much like in music, there’s real pleasure in the immediacy of this new venue- less complex, more intimate, fine tuned and each note resonates. Small projects require a different kind of attention to detail; I’m certainly enjoying the immediacy of completion and results at a time when so much else is in flux. Like everyone I’m adapting.

I’ve thought a whole lot this week about transitions, about the changes I’ve experienced in this recession, about decisions I’ve made and fears that have kept me from growing. Instead of regretting my choices I’m learning from them, and thinking about goals. I’m using this time- freer than I’ve ever had before- to recalibrate; to research new ideas and fill in professional blanks that I’ve ignored. This time has been a gift, albeit one reluctantly received. In the past I blew through projects, tenacious, mostly organized and efficient, without really considering what I wanted at the end of the day, or a year from now, or five. I kept up, kept pace, reacted and responded, but never really developed clear direction. Now I’m thinking about what I want, where I want to be and how to get there.

As an art student in “the good old” days I worked in a darkroom, blindly rolling film into a little box by touch. I remember the feeling of detachment between process and results, and how much depended upon instinct and intuition. I’m a painter, and oil to canvas is immediate and tangible; I mix a color, smear it on and see how it works. The darkroom process was disconcerting for me- results seemed something of a crapshoot ruled by timing and practice. Right now my life feels a little like that- not knowing what will come from the changes of the past couple of years, I’m learning to count on experience and instincts. Fortunately, I have plenty of both- and when they fail, I’ve got yoga to remind me- and of my fallibility, because sure as hell, I’ll make lots more mistakes. Wax on, wax off…

Time out is a good thing, and this transition is providing that, if nothing else. Quiet time to sort through, figure out, clean house and reorganize; time to empty the proverbial closets and see what I’ve got stashed in there. Time for patience and reflection, and marrying those “inner” and “outer” selves. For someone like me who is used to results, to having a task at hand, to having an answer and solving a problem, that’s been a hard- and very humbling- lesson, but one I most certainly needed to learn.

It’s very easy to fall into the trap of cynicism when we’ve been working hard and getting ambiguous results in any aspect of our lives. And that’s a danger, because we miss the big picture. Truth is, it takes time for change, and right now patience and perseverance are hard to maintain, but most essential. And lest we get too serious, I’m thinking of that peacock, and how some “frivolous” pleasures help pass the time more lightly.

Some things just take time…

Pocketbooks…

2009-09-29T10:46:00.000-07:00

Last week I was in Manhattan for the opening of a new design showroom in the Architects and Designer’s Building. Lavish, sleek, elegant and ever so Italian, with designers like Pininfarina creating their product, Snaidero is the best of the best- well-engineered, beautifully detailed and presented. Very seductive, like any good Italian…

It also happened to be “Fashion Week” in New York, when the couture designers present their spring collections- full of fantasy, beautiful women and drama. Always wonderful to look at, always something of a dream. So many negative things have been said about fashion’s relevance in tough times, but couture remains alive for a reason.

My architect friends took issue with my contention that good design doesn’t take a lot of money. Looking at that gorgeous showroom, I can't argue- luxury has its place, and it’s in showrooms with designers like these that we get our inspiration. Like any other field, the best always stands out- the Ferraris, the Diors, the Tiffanys; iconic designers who create beautiful objects that drive our desire; we’re inspired by those beautiful objects- by artists who have the creativity and skills to make things that are unique and special.

Government statistics say we’re coming to the end of this recession. It feels a bit like the end of a tsunami. We’ve been holed up listening to the wind howl outside and we’re cautiously peeking through storm shutters assessing the damage. Some of us have been really hit hard, others shaken by the reality check. We’ve all been affected in our outlook and expectations. It’s been a long, tough year, and it will be a long time before we feel secure enough to take big risks again. But clearly we want to have things of beauty around us, and more important, need to feel that we can have dreams about what’s next.

Enough about being frugal and cautious- we know we need to assess the damage and fix the problems, and as grownups we’ll take care of business. Sometimes design- and the best things in life- are in the small extravagances, and we just want to splurge a little. And we should- just a little.

I think back to my parents and my Aunt Jessie, who came to adulthood in that last great financial cataclysm. They didn’t buy a lot and wasted nothing, but there was always room at the table for an extra person, and I can’t remember how many times we gave up our rooms to a cousin or stray friend. Aunt Jessie used to wash the plastic forks and save the aluminum pans after a party; we affectionately teased her frugality. She had a giant pocketbook the size of a small suitcase that was always full of little treats- candies, glamorous earrings that turned our ears green, toys to distract us when we were being pests. It was a bag of wonder she would peer into and pull out something magical- better than Santa. Aunt Jessie cooked enough food on any given Sunday to feed a family of 12 for two weeks, and feed us she did. Enough was never enough, and there was never a question of what she could give. But there she was, washing those plastic forks. Aunt Jessie lived in a little apartment above a store in Brooklyn; simple and immaculately clean, it was full of people and food and laughter and great love. Her generosity lives on after her in the spirit of her children, grandchildren and now great-grandchildren, and in the hearts of an enormous extended family.

It’s not either/ or. It’s both. Wonderful to have those with deep pockets and broad imaginations who create things of lasting beauty as inspiration to us all. No question of their significance in affecting the landscape of our imagination. And innovation most often comes from the top. We need those with money to invest in the creative pursuits of great designers. Without Charles and Ray Eames, there wouldn’t be IKEA.

So, what does any of this have to do with design? Probably nothing, except that it reflects fundamental values about what lasts and what we remember as extravagance. I love beautiful things, great art and design, and have spent my life helping people make choices to make their environments special. If I’m honest with myself, I’ll always covet those Manolo Blahniks. But it’s that little apartment above the store in Brooklyn that I remember as home, where I couldn’t wait to go and that I think of with great affection, where I learned about generosity and what being “rich” really means.

As we come through this “correction”- the most significant in my lifetime- I think we’ll all feel that we have less, that we need to be careful. No question. But sometimes it’s those little luxuries that we allow ourselves- the treats we choose to be a bit extravagant about- that get us through the tough times. It can be as simple as those rhinestone earrings in Aunt Jessie’s pocketbook.

Limits...

2009-09-10T03:21:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d sidestep the fact that tomorrow is 9/11, but all week my inbox has been full of reminders. It seems presumptuous to write about it in this, a blog about design, but it keeps coming to me in different ways and I don’t want to ignore something that has been so significant in all our lives. Another year, another cycle of seasons, changes and time to heal. We’ve all been touched by and lived with the process of finding a way to keep going after what for many of us was cataclysmic, and for all of us who were touched in some way by that event, at the very least a profound moment of loss and awakening to how fragile our lives really are and what can be taken away from us in a single terrible moment.

So why start there, and what does this have to do with design?

We live.

Life does go on, and as we come through what for many of us has been a difficult time these past years, it’s good to remember what’s really important. We’re here, we were lucky, we get to live, we rebuild, we get on with things. And we plan.

I started these musings thinking about “tight times”, how the challenges of the past couple of years have colored all of our decisions and perceptions, not just in design but in our lives. Perhaps this “correction”, though certainly more severe than anyone anticipated, has pushed us to discover our limits and challenge them; what we think we can do and how to make things happen in our lives. I’m thinking that these moments have much to teach us, not only about what’s of lasting value, but what we consider the limits of our own- and our world’s- potential.

I’ve been reading a lot lately about how good design is in danger of being “sacrificed” by the state of the economy. I can’t for the life of me figure out why. In my experience, budget has little to do with creativity. If anything, limits on our funds seem to push us to find more creative solutions. And knowing what resources we have available to make our dreams happen doesn’t preclude getting there, just sets the stage for our direction. If we’re using our heads and our hearts, the results can be pretty astounding.

In the last 10 years or so there’s been a lot of movement on the part of architects to find creative and humanitarian solutions to world crises and housing problems- from housing for the homeless and displaced, to low-cost schools and medical treatment facilities in third world countries. A whole generation of young architects has been learning to think about solutions to these problems with limited resources in difficult locations. The results have been amazing and inspiring- beautiful, simple structures with ingenious use of local resources or cheap, readily available materials. The ideas are what matters, and solving the problem.

One of the most inspirational voices for this “new humanism” was Sam Mockbee, an architect who was pivotal in using his own personal force, sense of “soul”, and deep commitment to community to forge a new sensibility in architectural education. As one of the founders and directors of the Rural Studio, a program in the architecture department at Auburn University, he profoundly changed our thinking about what is important in our purpose for design. Under his direction, students in the Rural Studio built homes and community buildings for people in desperate need, often using recycled or “found” materials- a chapel built substantially from discarded tires; stucco walls studded with wine bottle windows, recycled windshields and license plates were the building palette with which he created dwellings and structures to enrich the environment in one of the poorest parts of the country. He and his students made our trash find a new life. In the process, he altered the thinking of many architecture and design lovers beyond his own small world as to what can be achieved if we aren’t limited by a lack of imagination. An award-winning residential architect, he brought to these designs the same respect, aesthetic and creativity that he applied to private clients. In the process he reminded us of what is important and how we can achieve it.

Those engaged in this process have been finding ways to work with limited resources without sacrificing ideas- and they’ve been at the forefront of thinking clearly about how to distill what’s most important in terms of fulfilling fundamental human need for shelter. Some of those designs are inspiring, some are technologically intriguing, all are done with extremely limited resources in difficult circumstances. “Architecture for Humanity”, a not-for-profit organization based in San Francisco, has been key in promoting this thinking and it is wonderful to see what is coming out of the collaboration of people from all walks, from all over the world.

We’ve become more conscious of the fragility of our resources- the balance of nature and what happens when that’s thrown off, misuse and overuse of our natural materials, and much has been said and done to look at “greening” our choices. We’re rethinking what it means to use materials “honestly”, and what “honest” materials are- are plastics really an enemy, or can we find a way to use them more effectively? Is strip-mining the side of a mountain to tile our bathrooms really a good use of our natural resources? And all those rainforest boardrooms and media centers that we rip out in 10 years? It’s a process in making better choices and using what we have with more thoughtfulness.

So are we all going to run out and build homes out of carpet samples and recycled tires? Of course not. But the fundamental concept of creative problem-solving is that we aren’t limited by our resources, but by our lack of imagination in finding solutions, and in assuming that those limits will stop us from building instead of inspiring us to build smarter. And build we will, because we can.

OK, I was a bit serious this time. Next week I promise I'll think about window treatments.

For more on Sam Mockbee and the Rural Studio, see the following link:

http://www.cadc.auburn.edu/soa/rural-studio/mockbee.htm

For more on Architecture for Humanity:

http://architectureforhumanity.org/

Lasting Value…..

2009-08-24T12:14:00.000-07:00

Last week we went to the New York International Gift Fair at the Javits Center in New York. Ferry from Weehawkin (awesome), hot and sweaty walk in Manhattan humidity up the hill to what is one of the biggest industry trade shows, and is usually packed and frenzied. Well, not this year. Echoingly empty spaces, and no surprise. As we all know and have said, people aren’t buying “Stuff”.

The Gift Fair is massive, including not only the entire Javits Center, but two of the piers. It goes on for days and covers everything from scented candles to furniture. Only in America could there be such a concentration of pricey objects whose intrinsic value is questionable. There are acres of vendors showing gardens of pretty things- the sorts of things that fill vacation gift shops, lovely to look at, fun at the moment, but with fleeting purpose. We were there to think about the direction of our own businesses, what we want to share with our clients, what we want to offer in this new economy. And what kept coming up for us was, what’s important? What is useful and what do we want to spend money on- our own and our clients?

We walked by booths with a tangle of trinkets and gadgets that attracted our eyes but we know are destined for a garage sale table. We bypassed all the tables that were filled with the kind of things we find at the back of Marshalls and Home Goods. What caught our imagination, what made us pause and talk were the objects that had imagination, beauty and purpose- and lots of things “reclaimed” or “repurposed”.

There were beautifully carved wooden kitchen tools and accessories from a company in Pennsylvania- graceful and whimsical, well-crafted and practical. There were chunky clay casseroles and bowls from Chile with animal shapes that were reminiscent of pre-Columbian artifacts- oven worthy, they will not only last a lifetime but make us smile. We found wonderful brightly colored children’s chairs made in Malaysia from recycled packing materials and reclaimed metal signage. An architect builds mosaic framed mirrors from glass tile samples that were absolutely dazzling. (I’m putting together a list of links for these sites and I’ll share them when it’s done). None of these things was “expensive” and all had heart and usefulness.

I came away thinking yet again of the old adage of “form” and “function”. The things we love best in our lives have both- they make us smile, they wear well and we don’t get tired of them. It’s those things that my kids want me to give them (and I won’t), and my friends always notice. A bowl from the Berkshires, my really old cast iron frying pans seasoned by years of French toast, my favorite twisty carved wood salad forks, and of course, my KitchenAid mixer. And my mother’s silver, which with a quick polish looks pretty spectacular after 70 years. These are things I pull out and use until they wear away- and they never seem to do that.

After a lifetime of buying and discarding stuff, we get a little smarter and look at the real and lasting value in the objects we choose.

That’s good design. And it happens in our houses, not only in the little decisions like the towels we buy, but in the big ones as well- from what kind of furniture we need to whether we add on that second story. Those choices take time and an awareness of how we live in our homes. And we don’t want them to be just pragmatic- we want them to have the visual magic to make us smile when we walk into a room.

When we decide to renovate there’s a hundred little decisions to make which have less to do with constraints of space and everything to do with quality of experience. Where do we place the window so we’re looking at the garden and not the neighbor’s basketball hoop? What do I want to see when I have my morning coffee? If I add to the back of the house how does that affect the light that I loved enough to make me buy the house in the first place? Do I cook alone or want everyone to gather? Do I like the morning light or does it wake me up too early? Can my neighbor see my bathtub from their window? Do we use the backyard or is it just there because it came with the house? How often do the kids have friends sleep over, and do we want them in the living room? What’s the first thing we want to see when we come up the driveway or open the front door. For that matter, do we need a front door?

The goal is to make our space fit us as comfortably as that pair of shoes we always pull out first because they still look great and our feet won’t hurt. But we also want our home to have that elusive quality that expresses who we are and looks beautiful- without costing a fortune.

If we weren’t looking for our homes to both fit and express who we are, it would be much easier to go buy that spec house or condo where someone else has made all the decisions – usually pretty well, if generically- than to suffer through the process of a renovation- because suffer we will! The costs for renovation, the length of time and the mess we’ll live in is certainly a lot to consider. But in the end, if we go through the process with care and thought, our homes become very personal and very special, and will last like the most special objects that we love. And those favorite shoes will fit for a very long time.

Abundance…..

2009-08-12T07:25:00.000-07:00

A word I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, as I’ve watched my own and friend's situations become more constricted by financial stress.

We’ve all built our dreams based upon growth. And we’ve all watched the monetary results of those dreams compromised by economic constriction in the past couple of years. I’ve seen friends who built businesses with their backs to the wall as they laid off long term employees who were as much family as friends; I’ve seen us all become fearful of our futures and stability as our bank accounts dwindled and work evaporated. And the stress has affected us all.

In the midst of this, we’ve all not only survived, but made adjustments. At first we were in shock from the shift, as in all changes in life. No, we’re not buying as many “things”. And maybe we can’t have “as much” as we thought. But maybe it’s time to think again about what we do have and what we can make of it.

I bought a house myself 5 years ago. It’s a little house and I’ve diverted thinking about what I wanted to do waiting for the time when I’d have “enough money” to do “the project”. I watched the value of my house keep climbing and then plummet- all on paper. I still have the house; it’s still full of the people I love and the things I’ve accumulated over the years. And maybe I just need to rethink that project and make it happen instead of waiting until there’s “enough”.

So, I’ve redrawn the plans to be more modest and manageable. And this fall I’m going ahead and doing it. Because my real priority is to create a space where the people I care about can be together and share. It will be beautiful, maybe less “perfect” than my original plan. But it will “abundantly” accommodate my dream.

I thought about this when I was working with a young couple recently. They’ve bought a lovely house on beautiful property, but it’s a rabbit warren of rooms. Built in the 50’s, it’s a relic of a different lifestyle. Long gone are the days of “formal” dining on china when we hid the pots and the chaos of preparing for our guests. We no longer present perfect meals on silver platters. Our lives are more integrated and less secret- we gather, we connect in conversation, we chop and cook together with our children under foot. We watch Bittman and Flay, and talk about how to marinade and grill. The walls have come down between men and women, work and home, and food has become play. Gone is the need for those formal spaces, and as our budgets constrict we decide what’s most important.

This young couple was looking to make a charming but quaint icon of a house work for the life that they live, not a past memory of what “home” was supposed to be. And their budget was “limited”. That turned out to be a powerful and positive thing, because they’ve thought carefully about what they really need and want. They set priorities and worked on a plan that would give them what they need now and allow for growth- both the house and their family- over time. The house will and can work, and the changes can happen over time- or not, but the space will still be great, and much more suited to the way they live. And it won’t require granite countertops or professional ranges (though that can stay on the wish list) for their house to become home.

And as money becomes less tight (as it will), the question will be what do we need and want to invest, not how much do we have? Will we need those “memory rooms”, the formal spaces that are largely uninhabited? Some of us may choose to have them- and that’s great. But I think that the lesson of today is that we don’t have to stop dreaming- or realizing our dreams. We need to rethink what dreaming- or abundance-means, in all parts of our lives, including our homes, and then get on with it.