Inside and Out Again

The most awesome experiences I've ever had, have come from the most unlikely circumstances. Sometimes the memory lasts longer than the moment remembered.

Just the right clear night and muffled sounds of a favorite song over the radio, my arms around my fragile Dad wrapped in an old army blanket and the fireworks display far in the distance, reminding us of so many wonderful years before. We tell stories to each other not to forget old times.

There might have been better fireworks in years prior, or warmer weather. Maybe one year we traded folding chairs, or sat on stone steps. Now we stand on the edge of the San Francisco Bay, among crowds of people trying to catch a glimpse of a star burst, only the edge of the fog bank reveals. Tonight is a night of memories, and we feel right back there... inside the past....and out again.

Maybe it's the memory of something so close, as it was the last Forth of July with my Dad, that makes the experience stick like glue. It might be one scent, or a song, but it's the whole of the moment that makes it so special. It's not always describable.

To be an artist, I feel compelled to crawl into those memories sometimes, taking it all in, even if it hurts a little. When I see colors such as you see in these falling petals, and in the tiny seeding grass, I feel enticed to go inside of the scene, in the same way. Sometimes I bring my eyes down to the level of the wonderful sensation and imagine if I were inside the grass, inside the flowers. How would I feel to live here?

There was a scene from 'Harold and Maude', a cult film from the seventies, where Maude asks Harold to feel the inside of a sculpture. She brought his hands to the smooth surface and asked him to close his eyes and to just feel. This is what I encourage each client to do when they imagine a space I'm designing for them. Close your eyes and feel it.

Go inside and bring something back with you, when you come out. It doesn't have to be words, or agreement, or decisions, or common sense. It doesn't have to be the why's or the functions, the fashion, style or price.

It can be more abstract than that.

It can be an experience worth inviting in again someday, like fireworks in the fog. Like petals on the grass.


Carolyn

Start with a Playground

I tend to stay away from the bright greens and reds, primarily because of years of holiday overdose. They are opposite colors though and when used with other tones, like the subtle gray greens, and pale turquoise you see in the pasture shot; the tiny bit of rusty red, and the vast field of bright green, compliment each other.

Compare the impact your senses have with the graffiti shot. Do these colors and the pattern make you a bit nervous? Good. This is what makes things interesting. Step away from safety and you expand your awareness.

In these two shots the same colors exist, or close enough, but the amount of color and the proportions of one to the other, are far different. It's like the master speaking to the student. Or the string of lit Christmas lights at one end, having a light coating of snow on them.

Ok, clear your mind..., I'm going to stretch your playground of imagination to use these extremes in an interior space.

You are in the pasture room. You are bathed in the subtle tones you see in this shot. A bit of black and white checkered pattern on a table top perhaps, and maybe dark red legs on a chair...but primarily the room has the proportions of color you see in this shot.

Now imagine the graffiti as a wallpaper pattern, inside of a closet, off the pasture room. When the closet door opens, between the shelved items of old books, the wallpaper peaks through.

You find the calming attitude of the quiet tones in the room, cracking a smile when a door opens.

The subtle and the bold learn from each other, like the old learning from the young and the young from the old.

I didn't scare you off did I?

It's great to imagine isn't it?

Carolyn

A Case for Renewal

A couple of years ago, I had an idea about making little boxes. Well, actually I didn't construct the boxes myself but my nephew Robert did. He made twenty five various shaped pine boxes with cut-out front doors, for me to 'decorate'. I call them my Cases for Renewal. Originally my inspiration came from a simple desire to share something I had found quite mysterious, yet wonderful, in having a sort of 'altar' in the house. By placing something inspirational in a box, one might serve to be reminded of the good things in life. Yet, what occurred for me was quite unsettling.

After the show in my garage, having not sold a single one, and giving a few of the cases away to friends, I acknowledged the boxes were not a favorite item for people to purchase. In fact, by the time I figured the cost of the pine wood, the construction, three to four coats of paint and sanding between each layer, ornamentation, lights on the interior and so forth.....plus a small mark-up, the little buggers were a pretty penny. I myself, might think twice before purchasing one.

Having one in a particular place where the eye comes to rest, say at the end of the hall, or at an entrance, and putting something in it occasionally; requires thought. Or maybe not.

As I filled my little boxes, taking one out of the garage at a time and moving them in different areas throughout my house, I noticed how less likely I was to notice them at all. Where originally they stood out quite noticeably for me, now they disappeared.

When I filled my first boxes with a beautiful shell or a vase of flowers, I was reminded to have intent, or a sort of reverence for life. Now they were cumbersome, and became a thing of nuisance. I had to dust them, and tend to them all. And why in the world did I think I needed a box, to be reminded of good qualities anyway?

What was I going to do with them?

My sister Annie mentioned something to me a few days after the show. Since then I've realized how precious her remarks were. She said something like; 'If you want to decorate something, as an item of decor for another to purchase, then you've released the idea of what eventually might become of them. You've simply decorated a box...even as pretty as you have made them, they are an ornament. Let go.'

I wasn't able to do this.

Her comments annoyed me continuously for weeks after. My original idea, my work, the cause, my art form; all diminished in my mind.

Why couldn't I release the idea of someone sticking their kitsch figurines in them? Who was I, after all? Someone too good for my own skin? The sight of each and every one of them became a problem to solve, not inspirational as I had intended them to be.

I wondered why I hadn't constructed them, one by one myself, perhaps out of old materials .....something recycled, like odd scraps. Why were they not more individual because of their unique materials? This was much more my style. What had I done?

Then I found the answer.

I realized the lesson involved my world of design as a whole.

The essence of good design starts with an empty canvas, and this canvas changes as I do.

Each and every item I touch has a connection to the natural world and expresses who I am and what I believe in.

If I am an activist in the world of sustainable design, then what I do must make sense.

I used new materials when tree cutting wasn't needed.

I called for a number of items to be constructed...because it was easier to complete for a show of work. The piece of art was secondary.

I imposed my use of them, thinking everyone thought like me.

And now they remind me of all these things. Kind of laughable. Kind of sad.



But here's the best part: I still have time to correct this plight. I will continue to work on them. I will use old scrap paper to collage the interior, or put them outside to weather...or paint them with left-over paint...or hide them in the garden for the worms to eat. The story of my boxes has just begun.


The lesson for me is a humble one. No matter where I look, sometimes in the most unlikely way, or the most unfamiliar place, there's simply another case for renewal.

Carolyn

Fish in the Same Pond

Lately , there is much talk in my circles, about the immigrant worker in this country. The interior design and construction industries are dependent on these workers, yet there are so many opposing ideas about what is right and what is wrong, in hiring them. Seldom do I hear what we have gained by having this tremendous work force.


My grandfather, Leon Watson, was a predominate builder of the old classic adobe homes in Albuquerque, New Mexico, for over 40 years. Many of his houses are now on the historic register because of his devotion to detail and selection of Mexican artists. He produced the most beautiful properties, using immigrant artisans to carve solid wood doors, or install old railroad timbers or complete hand forged iron hardware.

Leon always told me, he couldn't have produced what he did in his life, had it not been for the Mexican immigrant.

It didn't matter if his Mexican crews were better or stronger than I, he would put me to work in that 100 degree heat too! At 13, I had my quota of adobe bricks to finish before lunch. I was just one of the crew and I sat at the same table and collected my pay just like they did during those long summers of my youth. I was no better or worse than anyone else on his crews. If I was to address someone older than I, even if our languages were broken, I was expected to address them respectfully. "Senor, por favor." were the first words I learned in Spanish.

One of my grandfather's favorite stories recalls a black man stepping into his office requesting work. It just so happened a good man was always needed somewhere on my grandfather's crews, and so, he was hired. The next day, this man Mr. Reed, showed up on a site with all the Mexican workers. The crews didn't like this much at all. Their foreman exclaiming to my grandfather; the laborers were going home if the black man was to remain. The Mexican crews weren't used to working with a black man and they were mad!

My grandfather nodded his head and said "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."....and sure enough, the entire crew packed up and went home that day. All of Leon Watson's projects came to an abrupt halt.

I remember my grandfather looking straight at us when he would tell the next part of this story. He asked all of his grandchildren, "Now what would you have done?" We knew the answer probably before we were out of diapers...but he always paused for us to consider his response.

"I'll tell you what you would do...you'd do what I did. I rolled up my sleeves, left my air conditioned office, and went out to the field with old Mr.Reed and we got the job done!"

Slowly over the following weeks, each worker came back, asking for their jobs back and of course my grandfather obliged....but never again was there ever a word about race or privilege.


Now about the immigrant worker; Isn't Labor Day a day for everyone to celebrate the work force holding this country together? If you hire a worker without papers, don't you owe it to yourself to ask what help you might offer, to procure them? Doesn't this in turn, secure your continuing to reap the benefits of their work? Why not ask them how they plan to someday pay taxes, vote and eventually get their citizenship? Asking the questions, is a start.

I work with more immigrants than I do non-immigrants. They bring my projects to life. Maybe I help them learn an accounting method, as I did with one of my contractors Shi Jean, shown here on his ladder. It was harder than I thought to get him through those initial steps, but it's worth it. He will continue to produce wonderful finishes with his magic hands, for my clients. It's a good exchange we offer one another.

We are all fish in the same pond and we benefit from the efforts of all workers everywhere. When a task is at hand, it may be time to set the dividing factors aside, and in the simple words of Leon, "Get the job done!"

Carolyn