Tag Archives: england

london calling…again

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travel m wood union jack

woke up this morning with an offer to spend a month in london.  how uncanny is this universe when it zooms right at the bullseye of my wanderlust dreams!  mind is now racing, over copious cups of coffee and my itunes mix “london calling’, over how to juggle this, that and the other thing here in control central: have laptop, can work. no matter where, right?

and ironically, i’m working on illustrations for a book which is being published in the uk….and also have yet more illustrations to create for a children’s book set in london that i hope to pitch to thumbs up all around.  heretofore, relying on imagination, the internet and my own little collection of travel photographs has done the trick, a sort of out-of-body artist experience.

but what of this?  sketch pad in hand, jostled amongst the brits on that fabulous tube, off to sit and capture the stuff that dreams are made of….

bagpipes

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engineering + math + science = heartsongs

studying structure, design, architecture and all of that jazz comes in handy when i have to draw a bagpipe.  actually, for that matter, when i have to draw anything.

my scottish friend is celebrating a birthday today.  i love being able to say that, “scottish friend”…as in, a scottish fellow who lives in scotland.

so for today’s facebook special birthday m. wood doodle, it was a compelling task…either that or the loch ness monster.

now the fact that i even know this scottish fellow is because of a pair of john’s: hughes and belushi.  a forever fan of both “ferris bueller” and “the blues brothers”, somehow the windy, gritty city of my backyard compelled this guy to impetuously travel from the glorious green highlands to a grey november weekend in chicago.  fast forward to my being in town to, of all zany things, stand in line for the casting call to my matt damon movie. (notice it’s “my” matt damon movie…).

late that night, after a giddy evening of food and spirits, i wound up, on a dare from my pal, striking up a chat with the tall, dark stranger, smack dab in the middle of the packed crowd of the zebra lounge.  stranger things have happened, and they just keep on happening, in my life, anyway.  but the moment that the rolling vowels and consonants came rolling out of his smiling mug, i was hooked.  ”you have an accent!” was my immediate reply and the start of a great conversation and even greater friendship with this doppelganger-sean connery-sort of a bloke

since he’s a “stewart”, i did a bit of research, meaning, walked over to my mudroom to find my scottish wool scarf, featuring the scottish tartan, a deeply appreciated gift, used daily this past winter to keep me warm and cozy.

my cat watched me stroll past her food dish (set near the lovely display of wine, always at the ready for unexpected guests), and noticed, with a frown, that i didn’t stop to “top off” her kibble.

back at my desk, i took a look at a few photos of bagpipes in my “eyewitness” scotland book…then settled with a pen and paper to do the odd looking thing justice: transforming a blank piece of paper into a black line, color rendered birthday bagpipe sketch.

i had no idea that there were three alternating length wooden sort of handles, each stretch of wood clustered together by a toggle…that all of these moveable arms were tied together with a braided rope, gaily tasseled at the end.  how clever is that???

the fittings remind me of detailed working drawings when, back in the day, i was drafting elevations and sections of custom designed millwork for architectural projects: everything that is built by hand has to be fitted together somehow, and i love learning the ‘how’ of it all.

so, the cutest part of this bagpipe, which just suddenly occurred to be named aptly, as it is a bag with a bunch of pipes, is the little mouthpiece.  in a reverse trumpet sort of shape, the rounded end is fitted into the wool bag with, of course, a nice round fitting, and the tapered end is the little bit that the musician blows into.

in a reverse shape appears to be the actual horn.  i could be making this up, but i just drew the identical shape, only the tapered end is fitted to the bag (beneath a lovely fringe of wool), leaving the horn-like end unencumbered.  yes, i think that is where the shrill, ages-old, unworldly bagpipe cry escapes from.

that old argument, nature or nurture, comes to mind.  but i think the wordsmiths who came up with these catchy sayings left out one important factor: add in spirit, or ancestral genes to that and i will, one hundred percent of the time, vote on the side of the ethereal inheritence that, by nature of our stone soup dna, as having the strongest vote in how our heart sings.

i’ve spent my life loving the hypnotic strains and sounds, notes and chants, tunes and ballads from the portion of my ancestry that hotbed of history in the united kingdom.  great britain, for my history has taught me that, and ireland. yes, the french part of me swoons along to edith piaf and the accordian sounds of a parisian street cafe, but deep in my lungs, blood and soul, i’ve felt a yearning connection to the other side of the channel.

the little flute thingy, is that a flute or tin whistle?  a fiddle, stomping feet, angelic sweet voiced enya, clannad, the march of the constant single drum to carry the melodic scream of a lone bagpipe, the floaty waves of voices that conjure ghosts and centuries of life, stacked up one by one, layers of tradition, jigs, tartan, green, sheep, twinkles in the eye and a solid, sleepy march from one tried and true century to the next.  simple, unfussy, digging in the soil, loving in the technicolor green grass, fable upon fable, wink with a side of smile.

years ago, i was set to meet my waiter boyfriend in london and then discover all of england, scotland and ireland on a backpacking adventure.  the maps and plans were set, the british air tickets tucked safely beside my very first passport.  before our initial parting, whereby later i’d meet him for the start of our monthlong trip, we made the fatal decision to see “room with a view”….

strike the uk, give me italy!  helena bonham carter, dame judi dench, firenze, italy, italy, italy!

yes, my life has indeed had it’s share of distractions, and i’m a bonafide impetuous elf, time and time again.

after meeting in rainy, cold london (it was january….), we set off for the south, following the sun as it showered us with a roman holiday of our own, and a lifelong love of all things italian…saving england and it’s sisters for another day.

that day has taken twenty five years to come.

so the best of all, in this morning bit of side-tracked research, is that not only is my friend having a birthday today, but that, in a matter of a couple of short, busy, summer months, my children and i will be trekking to the mysteriously beautiful land of scotland itself to buy our pal a belated stout ale, wax and visit at the pub, and enjoy a personally guided tour of his beloved country, castles and all.

and on our list?  check out a highland game with the haunting soundtrack of a gathering of bagpipes, of course!  with a side of soul-nourishing everything else.

titanic

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god bless all who perishedi’ve altered today’s scheduled programme, something that had to do with springtime, birds, and some aggressive work, instead to take a moment to consider all the souls who perished in the titanic.

100 years ago today.

my mom is a bit of a ‘swami’, as in, sort of intuitive, clairvoyant, and anything along those lines. which means that i grew up in a sort of unorthodox, spiritually-aware household.  throw in a firm catholic foundation for good measure, well, at least until my parents had us all storm out of a mothers day sermon where the doddering old priest condemned all single mothers to hell.

i guess like a good baker, you temper life with a bit of this and a bit of that.  i sort of believe in everything, and have had very little reason to abandon any of my hodgepodge potpourri spiritual basket.

so, here we are, a childhood where i would ‘send my mom a message’ while she shopped at the jewel, which, robot-like, found her inexplicably pushing her cart over to the candy aisle (trust me, a rare indulgence in those days), reaching for a bag of chocolate covered raisons.

as the bags were unpacked, to her sounding cry of, “au secour!”, sure enough, out came a bag of just what i had “asked” her to buy for me.

inexplicable!

winding through life, i’ve had many reasons to keep one foot on either side of the world: the real, human, blood-forging physical world, and that filmy, floaty unseen bit that i know is out there.

i spent decades firmly believing i died in the titanic.  as a little girl, i was unable to ever look at photos of sinking ships.  our summers spent on the idyllic st. lawrence seaway were partially spent in little terror as huge freighters, proudly flying flags from all over the world, lurched by.  no, i’m no fan of those big creatures that bellow smoke and threaten to leak and plummet to the depths of the unknown seas and deep, chilly rivers.

so, when that james cameron man came out with his ‘kind of the world’ film starring that boyish leo (i’m not a fan) and that darling kate (where do i get her autograph?), i had absolutely no intention of seeing it.

who cares if it costs 100 million dollars to make and was sure to be an oscar favorite?  what on earth would convince me to sit in bloody holy terror for a few hours, just to relive my earlier doom?

as i find a challenge a worthy adversary, and am trying my best to not be a big old chicken, i was eventually peer-pressured into seeing the movie.  the only agreement i made to myself, as i chomped soothingly on popcorn, was that now, as a mother of three children, i indeed was brave and would face my fears head on.  heart thumping, romance established, that silly plot that killed time as we all enjoyed the sumptuous hug of that beautifully appointed ship, i waited for the final night and that damn iceberg to thrust itself into the peaceful gaiety.

i kept my eyes open the entire time.

years later, on a trip to nyc with my daughters, we followed my tradition of staying always at a different part of the city.  finding a macabre pull towards this most scary subject, i booked a ‘captain’s room’ at “the jane hotel”….face my fears once again!

this cool hotel, renovated and decorated in a sea-faring, circa 1912 style, was originally built as a small-roomed berth sort of hotel to accommodate the crew members of in and outgoing behemoth vessels of the atlantic.  ahoy matey and all that, the bell caps wore those darling “telegram”-delivering lad looking vestments and jaunty round caps; the room keys were affixed to large brass fobs and tucked into those old wooden cubby cabinets; the decor of our room was early 20th century; the view was the hudson river and the proud, welcoming statue of liberty.

but what really pulled me into choosing this hotel over all others?

it was the hotel where the survivors of the titanic were brought to stay during their arrival in new york, and where they stayed during the investigation.  on top of that, a memorial service for all those lost was held in the hotel ballroom.

who could resist this chilling, historical and spooky vignette?

sure enough, it was fabulous, and sadly, my gals and i weren’t visited by any ghostly apparitions. call it a quirky part of my unconventional childhood, but i was really hoping, though biting my nails in apprehension, to see or at least feel, something otherworldly during out stay.  call me crazy but i do believe in all of that stuff.

no such luck.

but, it did churn up a wonderful visit that paid homage, in some small way, to that terrible, horrible disaster.  as a member of the club of the living and a big, big fan of history, i savored the six-degrees of separation factor of our time at “the jane”.

so, here we are, 100 years later.  i’m still afraid of ocean liners, but as a designer and illustrator, i can’t get enough of their style, engineering and formidable existence.  today is a day to take a moment to pause for all who suffered from this great and horrific tragedy and cherish the breath that comes still to us, here and now.  and if any of the titanic starring cast is floating around, either in england, over that dreaded part of the ocean, or paranormally sipping a glass of port at “the jane”, then, here’s to you.

slide show

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i’m messing around in somebody else’s memories.

a few weeks ago, while wasting time on e-bay, i was compelled to bid on, and then subsequently, pay for, two hundred slides, circa 1965.  from england.

what can i say?  i actually thought it would be super cool to see europe from that era through the lens of a stranger.  and i love vintage cars.

i kind of forgot about it, and today popped into the post office to see what treasures awaited me in my po box.  it was jammed with a bunch of stuff, and i had to give a good tug to pull out the goods…a new yorker, some very important envelopes from my very important client, and shiny grey package from 59 nightingale road, south croydon, england.

omg!

so, here it was.  my slide show.  well, not mine, per se, but you know what i mean.  i drove around taking care of some errands, but honestly, couldn’t get home fast enough.  those slides were burning a hole into my brain, i was so curious.  i didn’t know what to expect, sort of when you choose the gum ball machine ‘surprise’ plastic thingy that has a ‘mystery toy’ inside…and when i impetuously bid on these, i figured that, at a minimum, there would be some great architectural shots to add to my arsenal of inspiration for future illustrations.

clearly, work was going to have to wait.  i’d already blown most of the day being a very nice mom, so determined that i’d proclaim today an official play day, right?

first thing: find a slide carousel, dump out the slides (sorry kids, i’ll put them back), and fill it with the yellowed “kodachrome transparency” slides.  done. second order of business: find the slide projector.  this was a bit trickier, but when i put my head to it, i zoned in on the exact spot and was lucky enough to find not one, but two of them!  hauling it back to the dark place in my house to set it up and plug it in, i had my first bit of bad news: the bulb was burned out!  so, unplugged it (a lot of reaching underneath things to do this, i wasn’t going to be thwarted on this mission).  wrap up the cord, carry it back to it’s friend, projector #2, and set that one up.  eureka: the bulb worked…it was show time!

i guess i’m not the only curious one here: the darned cat and my needy dog wandered over and stood in the way.  so, i got back up, opened the door, and tossed them both outside for some fresh air.  then decided that i wanted to enjoy the show with a fresh cup of coffee.  (work was really out the window at this point!)  the aroma somehow evoked europe, and short of bringing in an accordion player for mood music, i was as ready as i’d ever be.

the magic first click of the automatic slide putter-innerer brought back decades of memories.  the silent easy as pie maneuvers of my laptop and it’s world at my fingertips ease didn’t escape me: this was a labor of love, of things long gone, of a world that you can only find in, well, kodachrome transparencies.  and the recreations generated out of the land of hollywood.

i sketched the first slide.  rome.  well, sure, at first i didn’t know that it was rome, but that’s the part of this whole wonderful afternoon of mine: i became a sleuth, a travel-mate who was going to piece the memory back into this jumbled pile of forgotten flea market slides.

just when you get a good gig going, of course, there’s always time for a snafu: in my greed to pull out that first lovely image to set it into a ‘keep’ pile, i ended up bundling up two slides into one slot.

damn.

tweezers.  unplug the projector.  put on glasses.  find a flashlight.  get a shish-ke-bob skewer.  poke around.  swear.  let the barking dog in.  try to remove the tray.  several times.  aggressively.

i had two choices: lump the whole delicious slide show experience, or temporarily leave 1965 and let google help me.

“clearing a gate jam”…did anybody else know that there is a secret, second carousel release button?!!!

crisis averted, and back to the show.

now, what i found was terrific.  but my cavalier curiosity quickly turned respectful.  don’t get me wrong: i had a lot of fun, and i also was impressed with my european architecture know-how to place these shots.  but, most importantly, this was a family and these were their memories, and the fact that i now own them means, most likely, that they’re not alive anymore…and so, i did feel suddenly that i had a duty to be careful.  with their story.  so, here it is.  as interpreted by me, my imagination, and a bit of google to fill in the pieces.  oh, and i made up the names.

bob and dolores lived in england.  by the time the mid 60s came around they were the proud parents of one daughter, jean, who dutifully posed by docks, fountains, topiary and machu picchu.  well, actually, here she had a little bit of a temper fit: all of those stairs!

on the home front, jean had a lovely siamese cat who liked to sit on top of the stove.  she also had a grandfather who was a very proud gardener, and was especially fond of his roses.  jean’s grandmother had three sisters, it was hard to tell them apart!  jean was a blond.  she favored her father.

jean’s dad, bob, was a looker.  and he was also a dapper dresser: sport coats, a camel turtleneck, overcoat, and a dashing doug mcclure kind of a smile.  jean’s mom, dolores, was of italian descent and resembled the movie actress, annette funicello.  dolores, who was sometimes called dottie, also enjoyed fashionable clothes, and often wore a stylish hat, especially when visiting the vatican.

bob’s career had gone ‘his way’, and to celebrate, he surprised his lovely wife and sweet daughter with tickets for an around the world, 10-week tour aboard one of the p & o “biggest blooming ships sailing the seven seas” orient line.

*authors note: they took the cruise, but some inland venues test the accuracy of whether or not this was actually one trip…plus, jean aged about 4 years through the entire process, bob grew longer sideburns, and dolores grew out her hair.

with much fanfare, the family boarded the ship on the shores of england, and were off to taste the exotic, historic and rustic flavors of the world.

welcome to paris: luxembourg gardens; the pantheon as viewed through the sky window of a tour bus; notre dame and it’s glorious flying buttresses; versailles where the focus of the lens was the opulent gold-covered interior; and a special treat for good girl jean: stuffing a fresh croissant into her mouth atop the eiffel tower.

during a side trip to verdun, bob was compelled to take a photograph of the welcome sign, written french, german and english: “visitor remember!  you are entering the actual battlefield.  this earth has been drenched with the blood of thousands of heroes.  they demand the homage of your SILENCE.  ’those of verdun’.”  (google filled in the blanks for me: the deadliest battle of world war one, over 700,000 died there.)

verboten, welcome to germany: just twenty years after the end of the second world war, bob, dottie and jean enjoyed the toothpick spires of churches and the refreshing fare at an outdoor bierstube.  venturing over to the ‘other side’ of the brandenburg gates, young jean grew troubled while viewing the charred, melted cathedral and rows and rows of barbed wire.  they decided to go back to the bierstube.

italy was a welcome reprieve after the heaviness of germany.  dottie, of course, felt gleeful to visit the land of her people, and bob was a big fan of the pizza. highlights included visits to bernini’s st. peters & the fountain of the four rivers. jean tossed a coin over her shoulders and made a wish.  (probably to never return to germany!)

after a lovely lunch in sienna, the family boarded the ship, next port: spain.

the exotic, byzantine architecture wowed the whole group.  dottie was especially drawn to the deep reds of the oriental carpets of the covered lounge at the alcazar gardens, while jean dreamt of aladdin’s genie and flying carpets. bob took special note of the myriad of patterns played out in the glazed tiles adorning buildings & finery.

greece was the next spot, featuring a lovely shot of a domed, whitewashed church atop a dusty hill.  the girls took a swim in the mediterranean sea, while bob tried his hand with some fishing.  the friendly locals were generous with their stories and fishing equipment.  dolores loved the ouzo.  jean stayed away from the squid.

in one of the moves, bob lost most of the slides from the orient.  only one survived.  this somber soldier in a woolen overcoat seemed to be guarding this ornate fence, or the mountains behind him.  it’s a mystery, unless that costume can be googled.

the mighty ship crossed the atlantic, and our family discovered both north and south america.  jean, as was hinted at earlier, didn’t have good things to say about peru and machu picchu, but dolores did look fetching when she posed at the base of the great pyramid.  a donkey and some lovely shots of mexican towns surely pleased them all, as well as the cerveza to help beat the heat, although the p & o orient lines ships were all outfitted with air conditioning!

you haven’t seen america until you’ve experienced the wonders of both the grand canyon and niagra falls.  jeans parents made sure she saw them both. rounding out the trip to the u.s. of a. was a picturesque visit to the americana outpost: maine.  jean and dolores are all smiles as they pose by some jaunty, colorful buoys and lobster traps.

well, all good things come to an end.  the grandmother ship to the princess & carnival cruise lines made it’s safe passage back to jolly old england, and our globe trotting family wrapped up their slide show with a lively group shot of jean’s 8th grade graduation.

smiling from ear to ear.

CRATE TAPESTRY BOLD ORGANIC COLOR

those crazy brits got me thinking

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this morning got off to a slow start.  i couldn’t seem to shake off staying up too late (blame that on jennifer egan’s “a visit from the goon squad”) so i stretched out my second cup of coffee over a lazy meandering around Facebook.

what better way to put off work then to continue to do research on the event of the moment, the royal wedding?  as luck would have it, i downloaded the official wedding programme as my very own digital keepsake, spent considerable time examining both william’s and kate’s royal crests (there is always room for inspiration…i think there’s going to be a bit of a mad dash of crest designs in our fashion world), and then went so far as to print a color copy of the official map, which details (in a darling illustration, btw), the official route that all of the carriages will take during the parade from westminster abbey back home to the buckingham palace crib.  call me crazy, but as all of my friends have said, we’re doing this ‘for diana’.  yes, i said you could call me crazy.

the procrastination hit a fevered pitch (and a walk to fill my mug for a third time) as i wound my way over to paul mccartney’s fb page.  i always liked paul the best, and was on an anglophile high, so i decided to stay for a while.  i know john has a much more intense following, and the bunch of them are terrific, but something about paul’s boyish bouncing head and plaintive, silly love songs always had me smiling.

exciting news!  just released, i happened to learn, “for the very first time, linda mccartney’s extraordinary life and career will be documented online with the launch of www.lindamccartney.com“!

since i seemed to have the time, i clicked immediately to see what this was all about.  and that, my confused readers (where is she going with this?), was my inspiration for the day.

here is this woman who perched in the midst of an entire world wide sea change, and in all of it, just look at the evolution of how the world looked.  she started out as a preppie in scarsdale (i’m assuming, just seems obvious), picked up a camera, hung out at town & country magazine, and then by happenstance was jettisoned into the world of rock’n'roll and then married herself a beatle.  the clean-lined eastern sensibility of one style is replaced by the kookie, what are these people wearing haberdashery gypsy pattern on pattern color splotch of the wild days in the later 60s.  then let’s spend a few decades living on a farm in england and embrace wools, hunter boots and sensible cotton dresses…oh, and launch a world-wide stance on life without meat.  kind of a trend setter, i’d say. ya think?

i was lucky enough to catch paul mccartney and wings back in 1988.  swept away by the opening number which bunched all of my fav beatles songs together, accompanied by a huge slide show of the fab four up behind paul, i noticed a small, slight blonde gal hanging over by the keyboards.  omg.  it was her!  (i’d clearly done no research whatsoever and had no idea that linda was now a part of the band…).  my favorite part of the concert?  when the music really got going, and the audience was swept away by their paul-rapture, linda would pick up a hand-held video camera and scan the audience, making her own home movie to pop into the telly when back home amid the hills and dales of england.  pretty cool gal.

go see this website.  it’s gorgeous, it’s telling, it’s poignant, it’s amazingly impressive.

http://www.lindamccartney.com