Easter

Over time, I’ve been experiencing a slow shift with respect to what, where and to whom I’m paying attention. An imperceptible change in priorities from day to day. Which will (has? is?), eventually over a long period, become a fairly seismic shift in perception. Hence, my absence from this blog. So far, it’s mostly been internal. And in all likelihood, is likely to lead to external changes. It’s been liberating, and exciting at times, but also, frankly, terrifying. Only time will tell where it will lead me!

In the meantime, I’m back in Melbourne for a week and enjoying family, old (and new) friends and the general urban(e)-ness of my home town. And the occasional buttery toasted currantey goodness of hot cross buns!

A safe and happy Easter, all.

The Writer’s Wall

Rustic furniture. Typography. Writers. White wooden floors.

Love.

(with thanks to my ideal home)

Thanks, Liz

‘Tis the long weekend in the Bush Capital.

We headed up to a working farm and vineyard specialising in smoked meats and wine in country New South Wales and ate, drank and made merry all afternoon.  And later, as the shadows became longer, soaked in the quiet and calm of the rural surrounds.

I love the Australian bush, with its ghost gums, yellow scrub and desolate, austere air.  And enjoyed wandering about the farm, with its old twisted machinery and corrugated iron sheds.

I also discovered that in this part of the world, the sunsets turn the bush a delicate shade of rose-lavender.

Wooden Box

I recently picked up this crusty, damp wooden box for a steal. I dried it out, treated it with wood cleaner and then stained it with some lovely Danish timber oil.

Now it houses some odds and ends, some bits and bobs.

Rustic-ity

Rustic has always been a favourite word of mine.  It brings to mind images of French vineyards, rough-hewn benches and tables, laid out with peasant fare (slabs of cheese, hearty bread loaves, tomatoes straight from the vine, freshly creamed butter, strong wine and / or cider which smells like old socks and knocks you out for nought about five seconds after your first draught) and peopled by gap-toothed, sunburned, salt-of-the-earth… err… beret-sporting peasants (French maybe, or perhaps, Basque).

But enough indulgent stereotyping!

Greg Hatton makes beautiful, functional, modern and yes, rustic objects and landscapes from ‘reclaimed materials, found objects and introduced trees that cause land degradation.’ The last being a real problem in this country as trees like elms and poplars which are native to Europe or North America require more water than Australia’s drought-stricken environment can afford.

You can see more of his work here.

Stone and Wood

Liz Lemon said it best:

“I want to go to there.”

(From these chaps.)