The Test of Time…

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…

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…

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…

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…

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...

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...

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…