It’s Skagen-blossom time…

Whilst floating about my parents’ gardens today (on a visit for Father’s Day), photographing their fruit trees that are all in blossom in defiance of the chill, what should I spy in the nectarine tree but a pretty strange piece of fruit: a silver Skagen watch!

If only…

A more truthfully painted picture: determinedly I march my sister Star about; ruthlessly tug her arm into pleasing compositions; force her to stand on garden seats; bark instructions. “Think graceful! No claws! Shake that hand out!” When she proved somewhat dissatisfactory as a model (ie, she got bored), I banished her back indoors, minus one watch. It was much easier to work with I must say: gave me no sass back.

My sister’s desire for a Skagen watch actually came through her admiration of my own Kenneth Cole watch. After an epic hunt online, Skagen HQ in Denmark directed them to their ‘only’ Australian retailer: the department store David Jones. On their way through the mall to DJ’s, they spied this very watch in another jewellery boutique.

I wonder if Skagen knows their product is actually available on eBay? In fact, they commonly grow on trees these days too.

Cinderella’s slippers

The first time I marched purposefully into the central corridor of Ben Thanh Market in Saigon, I saw a stall arrayed in beaded slippers of every colour imaginable. Then and there I decided I must own a pair.

It behoved me first to scout the entire market so I could distribute my available funds appropriately amongst other worthy merchants. When I finally returned to the beaded slippers stall, I was directed to sit on a camping stool whilst the shoes of my choice were fetched for me to try on. (I was not given a cushion such as the one pictured above to rest my dainty foot on; rather a piece of cardboard.)

…like Cinderella’s sister,
I could not stuff my fat foot into that little delicacy…

The first pair that caught my eye was a lovely watery aquamarine, but like Cinderella’s sister, I could not stuff my fat foot into that little delicacy, and lamentably they did not have a larger size. My second choice was a pair in silver satin, embroidered with white and silver beads. I almost decided on those when these utterly fantastical pink slippers caught my eye. They were the ONES.

It was the same when I found this plump, silk cushion in another boutique. I instantly decided I must have it, but chewed my lip wondering how on earth I would stuff it into my bag to get it home? I knew the bag would be full to bursting already with all my acquisitions. However, it didn’t take much for the Vietnamese salesgirl to convince me it would be easy. Look how soft it is! She pantomimed squishing the thing in half. Sold.

Of course it wasn’t that easy, but since shopping fever had lead me astray, I would find a way. I was much more determined than Cinderella’s sisters!

The Legend of the Snow Angel

A rare glimpse of the elusive Snow Angel shows her tiptoeing through the snowdrifts bare-footed, one hand lifted in poignant farewell to Winter.

Dressed all in white, she blends into the wintry landscape, but we have managed to capture her with our telephoto lens before she disappeared into a sudden flurry of snowflakes.

The winter is long however, and although our calendar indicates Spring is lurking around the corner, we have a feeling we have not seen the last of the Snow Angel. We may yet have the chance to record her final dance in celebration of winter, before the warmer weather chases her ever northwards.… until next year.  

“THIS, children, is puce.”

I know that this question has been causing many of you out there a lot of anxiety, so I want to put it to rest once and for all.

Puce is a colour that is difficult to define, (except see picture above for the OED’s definition); few have heard of; and seldom passes colour forecasters’ lips today except in reference to nineteenth century fashion. In these days when dark purple is aubergine, deep red cranberry and blue cloud, puce has no place. Who wants to paint their house flea colour? Or worse, wear it next to their face? It is difficult, period.

But today we shall attempt to clear up the mystery somewhat.

Puce is a colour that … seldom passes colour forecasters’ lips today except in reference to nineteenth century fashion.

I first came across this strange hue in Georgette Heyer’s Regency romances. I imagined – in error – that puce was a pale purplish-grey. Heyer’s stories take place during a period when puce was the high kick of fashion, although it apparently suited few. Here are some quotes*:

Miss Milborne, whose striking beauty could well support the trying colour, was wearing a new gown of pale puce satin and net to the ball, and with this George's violets could not be said to agree. (Friday’s Child) 

And:

…she wore a high-gown of an unbecoming shade of puce; and carried a reticule in one bony hand. (Cotillion) 

And:

He was magnificently attired in puce satin, with an embroidered waistcoat. His wig must surely have come straight from Paris. (The Masqueraders)

It is not stated in the caption, but this gown looks suspiciously like it was made from puce coloured silk. J. A. D. Ingres, The Baroness Rothschild, 1848. From ‘A History of Costume in the West’, François Boucher, Thames and Hudson, 1987 ed. I once owned a lovely Obüs millefeuille skirt in a muted shade of green; as puce is to violet, my skirt was like moss is to emerald. I could not like it. I originally wanted it in scarlet (not red), but Alice Euphemia did not have the scarlet in my size, so I had to make do with moss. One day I decided to dye it. I knew whatever came out in the wash, it was certain to be odd, but I thought it was worth the attempt. I am not quite sure what I was aiming for – perhaps chocolate brown – but with the addition of two different colours, the end result was more than merely odd. It was eccentric.

Years later I realised it was actually puce.

Sadly I could not photograph it for this journal entry as I donated it to charity shortly after the dyeing episode. (I was too disheartened to try again for charcoal.) Fortunately for this exercise I was able to locate another skirt (coincidentally also in the to-be-donated-to-charity bag) in puce, albeit in a less startling shade than my Obüs mishap.

Perhaps it is time for puce to explode back into the world of fashion? I am sure however it will be under another, more marketable, name.

* More literary delicacies here.

What I actually wore #0023

Serial #: 0023
Date: 04/02/2009
Weather: forecast 31°, morning a cool 19.5°
Time Allowed: 10 minutes

This outfit was built around the pants, which I think are adorable. Karen Walker described them as ‘plus-fours’. The Runaway label features an illustration of a little ragamuffin with all her worldly goods packed away in a square cloth that is dangling from her walking-stick. Cute as a button! … And she is embossed on the gold button too.

The fabric is also sweet – dark olive checked lines on army green, with tiny maroon flowers scattered all over. I love the stretch cuffs on the pants too. (The last time I wore these pants was in Vietnam a few months ago when I was having a combined mani/pedi. The two lovely girls attending my limbs giggled excessively over these stretchy cuffs.)

Occasionally I like to be naughty with my prints, so I decided to wear a blue top from Cue; the baby cord is printed with an art deco style pattern. The top actually flares out, so had to be tucked in, or I would have looked like Tweedledum. (Not Tweedledee, needless to say.)

As a counterpoint, I wore my heavy onyx bead necklace (read more here). The blue-green beads are so delicious I could almost eat them. I like that they are made from onyx beads I bought from completely different markets across the globe: the black from Stanley Market in Hong Kong, the green from the Blue Souq in Sharjah (one of the United Arab Emirate states).

Items:

Top: Cue
Pants: Karen Walker Runaway
Earrings and necklace: green onyx from Sharjah, black onyx from Hong Kong
Rings: green stone ring from Dittoday, silver rings from Roun
Watch: Kenneth Cole
Sunglasses: agnès b.
Shoes: Zoe Wittner