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One more group is on their way. And I have to say—it’s been an extraordinary year.
I’ve met so many fun, delightful, slightly-obsessed people who love antiques. My kind of people. The kind who spot a 19th-century basket under a pile of linens from across the room and run (gracefully, of...
The rich, faded texture of time. That’s what I see when I look at these things— the way facades softens, the way color fades, the way old text curls at the edge of paper, and ink tells the stories.
Photo Unknown Source
I take photos to remember what I cannot copy. Though, somehow, we keep trying— paint mixed...
Things gathered. From the French brocante—dusty, tender, full of someone else’s yesterday.
Nothing matches. That’s not what I’m after I collect things I like and then I find a place in our home. Which is getting harder to do if you know what I mean.
A threadbare pillow. A ribbon, faded, once pink maybe, wrinkled the way time...
They say, “The holy water’s watered down And this town’s lost its faith Our colors will fade eventually” So if our time is runnin’ out Day after day We’ll make the mundane our masterpiece
