Spring.

Priscilla, Nancy, blossom & blue.

little bits of late.

Ordered a gorgeous blue copy of Vladimir Nabokov's Laughter in the Dark, as well as a few other vintage books. Finding time to read a little more, is my aim.

A few christmas treats, blue crystals and pale pink lace bralettes. 

Peach & Ginger tea. 

Pretty tea bags.

Fell in love with this fabric I found. Reminds me of Little House on the Prairie. 

+ Cooped up in the studio as the Ted Baker menswear project deadline approaches... 

A House of Pomegranates.

"Embroidered couch, wild-eyed, open mouthed, woodland Faun.

Porphyry, bright. Anodyne. Fluttering ribands. Greek gem, carved in the figure of Adonis.

Moonlight, silver image, Endymion.

Procuring the rare and costly materials. To the North Seas to traffic for amber. To Egypt for curious green turquoise, found only in tombs of kings. Persia for silken carpets, India for stained ivory, moonstones, jade. Robe of tissued gold, ruby-studded crown, rows and rings of pearls."

The Young King, Oscar Wilde

A few phrases/ lines of a sweet little Oscar Wilde book I picked up.

***

She mused, She mooned.

"Flaxen hair plaited, skin porcelain, limbs lithe, earlobes drip with tiny diamonds.

Swan-like poise, practised and perfected. taste for lace, organza, Laduree shades.

Shell pink, Opalescent, Prussian blues.

About bows and frous, brocade and tweed."

Vogue, March, 2012

"She mused, she mooned.

‘I suppose you think I’m very brazen or tres fou

pinching her cheeks til the roses came

the way women wear their prettiest everything

expensive imagination, Tulip Texas, Lulamae. Reading dreams.

honest tongues, dishonest hearts

‘Oh he’s not my idea of absolute finito’

moseyed, sea-ward moving, glittery voyager, confetti air,

silvery, her hooves, careened,"

A few favourites underlined...

 Breakfast At Tiffany's by Truman Capote

/ Peonies/ Castle Gardens, Glass Houses.

***

Marie Curie / Cloudy friday.

I have a thing against buying books brand new. There's just something so quaint about finding a dusty little book, old and worn, knowing someone before you had appreciated it.

Was looking up Marie Antoinette, and came across Marie Curie. Very far from the Archduchess of Austria, I know, but I was drawn to the texture and colour of the covers, flicked through it and found some lovely little lines.

Saving it for a journey back home..

Spring in Fialta.

working and sewing, trips back home, London in sunshine, woodland walks, mint blazers, turquoise jewels, french tips..

Spring in Fialta - Vladimir Nabokov

a few pretty words and sentences underlined..

"picture postcards, amethyst rock + the mantelpiece dreams..

on such a day in the early thirties I found myself.

coral, slate-blue sidewalk

violaceous syllables, most rumpled of flowers.

flutters and effluvia of that gray day, vernal essence

almond trees beyond the chapel

pulse of the distant sea

lassoing, velvety, fawn, ephemeral, amity, interlacing.

thrones.

with more mouth than meaning. pale lip.

Russian fairytales, vignettes + white wilderness.

book of our two lives.

outside, milky dull. Tartar memories, drifted from the bare windows of the pale houses, bloomed listlessly, her sleeves trailing to..

an ashtray, stood aslant on the couch near one of her heels.

some parisian drama, plush wall.

remains of breakfast, honey stained knife..

sudden draft of muslin embroidered with white dahlias, french window, diminutive cast-iron balcony beyond to inhale dry maple leaves and gasoline.

Poisonous pun, veiled eyes, motionless pharoahlike face, childish celerity.

Dapper doll-like rosy Segur, a lover of art and a perfect fool."

links to images found via my Pinterest.

Gatsby.

"In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings, the champagne and the stars"

"Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York - every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves."

"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life"

"He hadn't once ceased looking at Daisy"

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby