It was so warm yesterday. Spring had finally sprung. I thought. Until I woke up shivering under my covers. But the next season is so close I think I can taste it. I spent the chilly morning warming my beauty thirsty muse by surfing a Swedish blog I found through a pin on Pinterest.
Reading the translation of Hviturlakkris is an amusing exercise in futility, but the beautiful, white, imagery kept me in thrall for a few hours. Currently my home tries to attempt a mix of Moroccan, East Indian, and Spanish Colonial influences, but the clean, calming monotony of the Swedish Gustavian palette is so seductive. It makes me wish I had a summer home somewhere so I could replicate that colorless peacefulness. I think I'm too slovenly to maintain the look in my primary residence.
I love my artifacts, and will continue adding to my collection, but perhaps I can incorporate a bit of Scandinavia into a little corner of my world?
|My sense of nostalgia is mixed up with unrealistic memories of recreated childhood experiences.|
All of these perfume bottles belonged to my Mother, who passed in 1978. The bride in the
photograph is my beautiful grandmother Henrietta Hart.
Keeping my house clean is a battle I fight with every day, but feathering my nest is one of my greatest joys in life. I'm constantly moving things around and creating new tableau's. My process of interior decoration is a never ending journey through antique stores and swap meets. Oh how I'm missing the Los Angeles Rose Bowl Flea Market!
Thanks for visiting. Hope to see you again soon.