They are just like you and me

I have noticed, and I think is has become more and more obvious, that the groups of vases that David and I design, are like groups of people.

There is usually a Mother and a Father figure vase, and a girl and a boy, or a boy and a boy, or a girl and a girl, or a cousin or an aunt. The vase is a very special object. It has hypnotized my curiosity. Perhaps it is the long history that we humans and vessels share. We have evolved together and in the process we have given them our traits, and they reflect what we think about ourselves and in the process, the vessel has acquired exalted and heavenly traits – beautiful form, and the most desirable of our parts, full lips, broad shoulders and a strong waist. We have given them the ability to be what we can’t, ideal and everlasting. Or maybe we use them to express what we can’t; an emotion, a gesture, a posture. They can be athletic, energetic, princely, elegant, or dowdy and obstinant. Maybe they are all of the above and more. Whatever the case may be, I remain curious, and indebted to the form as their body double attributes continue to allow me to explore what it means to be human.

I believe in beauty

Beauty can calm the soul and set things right. I have always known this, but it really hit me one evening. I had an exceptionally rough day and was headed home on the subway quite upset, fully intending to have a cry in the living room. When I arrived, the room was so familiar and so beautiful, that the cry wouldn’t come and the brunt of the day was dissolved. Of course beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but as I designed and decorated that space, the decisions that I made were honest and felt right to me. The placement of the objects was perfectly soothing to me, and now I understand that the placement of objects in a room is an antidote, or counterpart, or mirror of the mind’s activity, with all the power of a drug.

Everything I love is broken

Wear and use describe the life and of an object. I love the threadbare arms of a wingback, and the burnished, soft toes of marble statuary. I love the wear of stone steps, faded mirrors, tarnished brass, and even broken plates. Wear tracks familiar and comforting patterns, like the leather handle of my old canvas bag that fits my hand perfectly — the nearby shiny brass snap that my thumb seems to enjoy testing. Dare I say that without wear life would be stiff and new and boring.