And by “old tricks,” I mean fancy formatting, custom fonts, on-brand color palette, and Photoshop to fake any of the above. Bear with me for now (and if you want to help make this newsletter less of an eyesore—holler). In any case, welcome to my first independent dispatch, which picks up where I left off in my Editor’s Notes column for Curbed.
THIS WEEK IN TABS
Architecture, compliance, and abortion rights—by the extremely versatile writer Elizabeth Evitts Dickinson, who also published…
… a profile of historically overlooked designer Louise Brigham, a pioneer in flat-pack crate furniture long before Ikea became a thing. (Check out Brigham’s drawings here.)
I spent an entire afternoon spent researching Italian architect Dante Bini. His most famous client, director Michael Antonioni, and a concrete-shelled Sardinian love nest led me to this incredibly rich online exhibition about “superstar” homes courtesy of Villa Noailles.
This profile of Kinfolk co-founder Katie Searle, not because I have any big feels about Kinfolk but because Leslie Jamison wrote it.
Another Curbed article (clearly can’t help myself), this one by Diana Budds contextualizing the home gym. It starts with Andrew Cuomo and giddyups through historic examples: a treadmill invented in prison, a steampunk version of Bowflex, and celeb trainers from Fonda to Simmons.
Pal Lauren Mechling wrote about Nextdoor—the good, the bad, the comments section—for Vanity Fair.
I’ve been tracking the growing popularity of dollhouses for some time (I may have even started at age 6 with my own dollhouse—more on that in a future issue, apologies in advance). This week, the Wall Street Journal summed up the new miniature makers and the quarantined kids who love them.
And finally, a renovated house in St. Louis sporting the most tactile materials: brick, lava rock, patinated copper, and cork.
SHAMELESS PLUG
Catch me in conversation with Michael Anastassiades at 12pm EST this Friday, May 15. I’ll be querying Michael on his home studio in London, how he stays inspired, and any design rabbit holes he’s currently pursuing. Join the conversation via @hermanmiller on Instagram.
SHOPPING
A pair of picks per newsletter! Usually things I’ll encourage you to buy after considering for myself but do not end up purchasing. 😈
Frothy: Candles that are more electrifying than cozy. I like Lex Pott’s twisty fluorescent buddies (25) as well as Hay’s colorblocked totems ($45-$60).
Functional: I don’t know if you’ve tried searching for a step stool lately, but it’s one of those household items that’s so basic it’s actually hard to find. Maybe because I don’t want to pay $200 for one. $47, though? Now we’re talking. It’s from Etsy and you can choose from natural or painted wood.
DISTRACTIONS
I’m not saying any of these will cure your existential angst, but the least you can do for yourself right now is look at one beautiful and/or hilarious thing.
I do not personally know Kim Coleman, but she is a woman after my own heart. Her bio reads “Interior Design Research & Consulting” (related: how do I get this job?) and she scans retro design books. Meanwhile, @_basketclub_ entails weekly basket experiments from a group of designer cohorts. As for that floofy sheep… I don’t even care if it’s real; it is perfect.
ON MY MIND
I barely recall the way I used to experience time. Pregnancy is measured in weeks, as is maternity leave, and by the time I was finished with both, we were in the midst of a global pandemic. In the past month I lost my job, marked my first wedding anniversary, and realized that my husband and I will probably leave the apartment we put so much effort into decorating less than a year ago. And yet, none of these red-letter occasions felt all that distinct from any other day spent in the ever-expanding and -contracting time of quarantine.
For people like me who cope with stress by planning—to-do lists! next steps! thinking precisely where I’ll be in two months!—not having any concrete plan is unmooring. (Feeling unmoored in a long period of stasis: oh, the contradiction.) None of this even crystallized for me until something really dumb happened: As soon as I signed out of my work account for the last time, I lost all my carefully plotted Google Maps.
I’m sure someone with keener insight has written on the compulsion to map places of interest when traveling. For me, it was about marking locations for myself with the added bonus of sharing “finds” with others. A unique facade. A bakery with a spectacular version of x local pastry. The curtained bar in a deserted section of town where we ate crickets on my birthday. The secret garden in the middle of a concrete city. The stall in the middle of a flea market with all the good textiles. The abandoned Federal-style mansion on the side of a random highway.
Oslo. Fayetteville. Noto. Tokyo. Tucson. Those starred places staked a part of myself that now seems lost: traveling internationally, congregating with dozens of friends and hundreds of peers, traipsing through villas in the name of work.
Losing these physical-turned-digital markers was bad; considering our collective loss is of course much worse: more than 270,000 dead from COVID worldwide, 20.5 million Americans newly out of work in April alone, the small business down the block closing for good. I may never again have the occasion to find the 230-year-old candle shop in Lisbon. Looking back, it was a luxury to have been there at all.
If you made it this far: Thank you, I love you, and I’ll see you back here next week (or the week after… or whenever I think of a better title for this newsletter).
Yours,
Kelsey