Paperwhites (+)

These are some of the Paperwhites photos I mentioned taking a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately there wasn't much sun in the studio during their brief stay—not until the blossoms had finally begun to shrivel, that is...but I even liked the faded paper-thin petals scattered along the piece of creamy Fabriano Ingres (shown in the last image).

I adore everything about Paperwhites...the masses of unpretentious little flowers, their whiteness, the perky stems, that insistent, somewhat spicy perfume. (I find that not everyone is drawn to the scent—including my daughter—but I think it's delightful.) When we used to live in the US, I would buy a few pots-worth of Paperwhite bulbs in December. Some time after the New Year arrived, when I was just beginning to get used to the emptiness left in the wake of the Christmas tree's disappearance, the bulbs would begin to sprout. Soon their stalks were shooting up so fast you could probably see them grow if you wanted to, and the flowers didn't keep you waiting for long.

I haven't experienced the joys of watching the scraggly bulbs come to life for several years, as I have never seen any here—not even the florist could tell me where to look for them...daffodil & hyacinth bulbs, yes, but no Paperwhites. She does have a supplier for cut Paperwhites, so that heady fragrance I associate with the month of January still fills the studio for a little while. It never seems long enough to study them as much as I would like, but I do have some photos from this year's bunch.

The two images fourth from the top (the sort of 'foggy' glimpses) show the Paperwhites reflected in my roasting pan. As I was getting ready to scrub it recently, I noticed how much character the combination of repeated heat, not-very-well-cleaned olive oil remnants (and heaven knows what else) had given it, so I took the pan into the studio to see what the camera thought. The dappled surface happened to catch the reflection of the paperwhites, reminding me of one of those speckled old mirrors found atop antique bureaus. So the pan ended up getting its own photo session too (I'll post a some of the images one of these days). I just love where things like washing the dishes can lead...

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As it turns out, I didn't have a chance to publish this entry yesterday, and had some time to look through the roasting pan photos on the train today as I was taking my daughter to the Milano airport to meet her father for what is known here as a settimana bianca ('white week', i.e. a ski holiday). It was an easy seven-hour round-trip that got me home just in time for that lovely golden hour of the sunniest day Florence has seen in a long while. Funny that, no matter how brief a period I am away from Florence, it always makes me feel so happy to see the Cupola's shiny gold ball (the highest thing in the whole city) coming into view again...

My daughter was as enthusiastic about the photos as I was, but said she hopes that child services doesn't see them. (I do line the pan when I use it!) A couple of notes: the photo on the left of the second row shows another reflection of the Paperwhites, and the right-hand image in the bottom row is of a different pan, which has taken on an actual silvery patina in places.

As I photographed the pan(s), I was fascinated by the effects that occurred depending on what was positioned in the background—the mostly overcast sky, the ocher plaster of the building across from us, the terracotta rooftops—and how the pan was angled in relationship to the light. I applied auto-contrast to the images (then in some cases toned it down); this brought out the patina in an unexpected, almost surreal, way. One explanation for the metal's unusual coloration may be that, for lack of enough kitchen storage, these two pans make their permanent home in the oven and are therefore exposed to heat more often than is normal. In any case, they have provided me with quite a bit of amusement!

Below is a manipulated version of one of the shots...I really liked the palette that emerged when I played with the colors. (The original is shown below it.)

Black & white and red all over

I couldn't resist the play on words with the riddle that children take such delight in. Even though the answer is traditionally 'newspaper', it also could apply to many books...any certainly to those I'd like to write about today, which even have red covers.

The books in question are part of a series conceived by Christopher Alexander and his team at the Center for Environmental Structure in Berkley, California. If I could take only one book to a deserted island, it would have to be the second volume in the series, A Pattern Language (and it is the book I have given most often as a gift). A passage I wrote for The Piazzas of Florence gives a little background on the patterns:

My introduction to Alexander came when I was earning my architecture degree, but [A Pattern Language] is much more than a book about architecture: facets of sociology, psychology and culture that comprise built form have been taken into consideration to create two hundred and fifty-three patterns, resulting in a specific ‘language’—a language of building and, even more significantly, a language for living.

It begins with the larger patterns that define a community, such as FOUR STORY LIMIT, which allows people to have a sense of connection to the rest of the world even when they are in their homes and offices, a connection that tends to disappear with high rises; NINE PERCENT PARKING, which limits parking to no more than nine per cent of a given area, as it destroys human scale and contact in cities; SMALL PUBLIC SQUARES, which highlights the importance of public outdoor rooms, and reminds us to consider the number of people who will use them so they won’t be too big—and therefore go unused; and HIGH PLACES, which emphasizes our need for landmarks—and a chance to get perspective on our world.

Next Alexander moves onto patterns that should characterize individual buildings, and then comes a section on finishing the details of the building and its outdoor space. As I read through the patterns, even the names of many of them evoke appealing images, of the kinds of places where you want to curl up with your thoughts, a good book, have a nap, chat with friends, eat a celebratory meal.

The series of patterns concludes with THINGS FROM YOUR LIFE—a reminder to surround ourselves with things we love, that tell our story. Of course, following a list of patterns does not ensure good design—in the first volume of the series, A Timeless Way of Building, Alexander spends over five hundred pages trying to define the elusive ‘quality without a name’ that makes for good architecture—but it’s a starting point. I recognize that one reason why I so enjoy living in Florence is for its PUBLIC OUTDOOR ROOMS, INDIVIDUALLY OWNED SHOPS, STREET CAFÉS and CORNER GROCERIES, to name a few; they all add up to a congenial and fulfilling environment. Some day I would like to count how many of the patterns are part of my life here.

 

Well, I still haven't formally enumerated every pattern that I encounter in my daily life in Florence, but I have been spending more time exploring the patterns; they are part of my ongoing '12x12' project (which I will reveal more of this year). Many of the patterns are common sense—things that may seem very simple—but they are often overlooked in architecture and urban planning. As Alexander points out, we seem to have 'forgotten' this intuitive language of building. I'd like to focus on at least one pattern each month of 2013—something that's relevant to the time of year/what's going on around me.

For January I've chosen pattern 252: POOLS OF LIGHT. I love even the imagery conjured up by the phrase 'pools of light'...it makes me think of a small pond of deep, perfectly still water reflecting the sky in the clearing of a thickly wooded area...or the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel, drawing us closer. Found nearly at the end of the book (among the most 'intimately'-scaled patterns), this one feels especially important during these months of short days and minimal sunshine.

'POOLS OF LIGHT' examines the appeal and role of individual, concentrated light sources (as opposed to a stark, uniform light source), and explains how they can concentrate individual activities as well as define social groups. For example, in the social context, uniform illumination may discourage people from forming groups that would tend to occur more naturally within boundaries marked out by a 'pool of light'. Alexander also cites a study showing that concentrated lighting allows work to be more focused (I know I find this to be true). I love some of the illustrations, for example how a lamp suspended over dining table "seems almost to act like a glue for all of the people sitting round the table."

The pattern concludes with these instructions:

Place the lights low, and apart, to form individual pools of light which encompass chairs and tables like bubbles to reinforce the social character of the spaces which they form. Remember that you can't have pools of light without the darker places in between.

Studies, experiments and rationalizations aside, I know I find few things more inviting than a desk lit by a lamp—or an armchair sitting in a cozy pool of light, enticing me to curl up with a book. Likewise, as the light changes each season, I reorganize the most important activities to be in the sunniest part of the room (though of course there are times when it's so hot that cool darkness is more appealing). For me, light defines, encourages, and can even inspire, my daily activities.

I don't seem to be very successful with nighttime photography, but last night I tried to capture the studio table lit by only the desk lamp. This is the kind of thing that makes me want to keep working late into the night...

On my original blog I wrote an entry that gives more details about the premise for the patterns found in volume one of the series, The Timeless Way of Building, and have just re-posted it here for those of you who might like to read it. 

While Alexander may take several hundred pages to define the 'quality with no name'—a fact that some readers have taken issue with—after trying to convey the essence of POOLS OF LIGHT, I will say that I'm beginning to understand how describing such a simple concept can be so complicated! Though perhaps, as Einstein said, "If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough." Hmm. I will keep working on it...

Here are a few photos of some of Alexander & Co's books, taken in scant moments of cold winter sunshine—a sort of Day Three of the 'black & white' photo challenge...

{Just another reminder that I'm still collecting names for the one-year-on-Blogger drawing. In case you didn't see the original mention of it...anyone who leaves a comment or emails me by the end of January will be eligible to win the item of their choice from my shop. Thanks again for your patience on the long wait until the drawing takes place...I am hoping that a new collection—the embossed maps—will be in the shop by then...}

Black & white, continued

So...today is my promised Day Two of the black & white images inspired by Jennifer & Julie's ROY G BIV+ photo challenge. As I mentioned yesterday, I took my camera along when I went out to run a few errands earlier in the week, hoping to photograph some of the black & white my daughter and I had noticed the week before. It wasn't the kind of day I'd usually bother to take the camera, since there was very little light in the wake of the morning drizzle, but I didn't know if I would have another/better chance before the end of the week.

There are few activities I like less than fare lo shopping (though books and art supplies are an exception), but I do enjoy seeing the creative displays in the windows. And I appreciate the inherent contrast between the current designers' fashions being housed in palazzi that are several hundred years old. In The Piazzas of Florence, I wrote about the vignettes that are often found in the windows...how they seem to paint a portrait of a certain person, who loves to travel, or to write—and daydreamed about how my personal vignette might be set up in a stationery shop:

There would be a journal covered with marbled paper, with a tooled leather spine, my fountain pen with the luster of brown- and black-speckled tortoise shell, the brown leather book bag I bought at the Mercato Nuovo on my first visit to Florence, a shelf of favorite books… Perhaps this concept of the vignette is a contemporary version of the Renaissance portrait, in which the subjects were often painted with significant items from their lives. Long before that, when art was mostly religious, saints were often identified by a relevant symbol, and even in ancient times, people were inclined to enter the afterlife accompanied by meaningful objects from their earthly lives.

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This first quartet features photos from Stefanel—as I walked from window to window, I began to wonder if they might also be playing along with the black & white challenge (!)...every single one of the shop's seven windows was designed around black & white graphic symbols.

As I wandered along the streets of the city center, I couldn't believe how just many mannequins were dressed in black and/or white. And for the first time, I realized just how much signage is done in black and/or white (which of course makes sense for a number of reasons). All in all, it was an entertaining outing, though I must say that the reflections on the windows, and the context itself, i.e. the historic buildings, were much more fascinating to me than the goods for sale...beyond wondering about things like who might purchase the polka-dotted ensemble (upper right of second quartet)—and where she would wear it?

By the time I crossed over Ponte Santa Trìnita to return home, some swathes of blue sky had permeated the clouds and were reflecting onto the river. A couple of birds with black, grey & white feathers stood on one of the bridge's supporting piers; I love how the one is so perfectly centered, as if he'd been asked to pose for a photo.

A screenshot of the excursion's images...

 

Capturing shadows

On sunny days, I'm always happy to see that first sliver of sun light up the studio wall (shown in the upper left image), and it was my inspiration/starting point for January's 'addendum' to the ROY G BIV challenge: classic black & white. The silhouette cast by the Paperwhites I mentioned in my last entry also enticed me, but good old fashioned sunlight has been hard to come by in the last week, and they began to shrivel before I got to fully explore their potential. When I saw that the forecast called for rain every day this week—which would make shadows a scarce commodity indeed—I took along my camera on an errand-session on Monday so I could photograph a few splashes of black & white that my daughter and I had noticed on an outing last week (yes, she is also keeping her eyes open for me each month). Just as Montepulciano obliged for 'VIOLET' in November, black & white was in abundance in the streets of Florence, and it wasn't hard to find a thread to hold together the collection of images.

But then the grey blanket of clouds began to dissipate for a spell on Tuesday, so I balanced a blank canvas adjacent to the studio window and, between bursts of sunlight, started grabbing random objects to create shadows. The sun played a fast-paced game of hide-and-seek with the clouds, testing my patience, but soon I slowed down and started to enjoy the process itself: as always, there's plenty to capture the imagination in the little street below, and the swiftly moving clouds created some magic moments of their own.

All images below are shadows on canvas—with the exception of the leftover paper cuttings, which are scattered on a piece of Fabriano Ingres. I am quite enamored by 'scraps' from projects, and took quite a few photos of the paper strips, but the shadows weren't very striking compared to the effect of the larger objects projected onto the vertical surface of the canvas.


Waiting for the sun to strengthen the shadow of my pruning shears...

A few items in the studio: drafting brush; paper strips leftover from trimming a project; scissors; T-square & triangle...

Things from around the house: lamp; gingerbread man cookie cutter; hangers...

And the Paperwhites...

 

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The images from Monday's excursion are so different in spirit that I will post them tomorrow (though here's a peek)...

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And, meanwhile, another idea for capturing black & white came to mind; they will make a good introduction to one of the elements of my 12x12 project, so I'll post them in a few days. Here's a sneak peak...

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{I am still collecting names for the one-year-on-Blogger drawing. In case

you didn't see my last entry, anyone who leaves a comment or emails me by

the end of January will be eligible to win the item of their choice from my shop.

At the time, the end of January didn't seem that far away, though now I'm

realizing how long a wait is actually is! Thanks for your patience...}

One year ago today...

One year ago today I posted my first entry on the reinvented version of 'Arzigogolare'. To mark the beginning of this next year of blogging, I've decided to have a giveaway. Anyone who leaves a comment on this post—or any others I write before the end of January— will have a chance to win the item of their choice from my online shop. (You may send me an email if you prefer.) On the first of February, the names will go into a bag, box or basket, and I'll ask my daughter to choose one.

Today seems like a good time to share a few thoughts about my ongoing quest to record my creative life on a blog. One reason I switched to Blogger last year was to be a bit more 'sociable'. Sure enough, before long, I found two groups/projects to participate in—Book Art Object & A Letter a Week. I also started 'following' other artist's blogs and, in turn, learned of still others. This eventually led to joining in on the ROY G BIV photo challenge, which I really enjoyed. I have found a lot of inspiration, motivation and support during this blogging adventure, and am looking forward to continuing this year.

My initial plan was to write shorter, more frequent posts—to be 'less precious with my words'—but at one point I acknowledged that this simply is not my style.  Unfortunately, I am a very slow writer, and like to thoroughly...slowly...indulge myself in the pleasure of the editing process (many blog drafts are waiting in the wings). Still, the desire to record more, and to share more, is there. I actually spent the first couple of weeks of December planning a 'Twelve Days of Christmas' giveaway, which would have gone hand in hand with twelve posts featuring a dozen projects either completed last year or carrying over into 2013. In retrospect, when I think about the traveling we did over Christmas, and then for New Year's as well, it seems like a crazy idea. Still, it would have been fun to follow through, so I'll keep it in mind for another time...

Besides being frequently foiled by the amount of energy & organization it seems to take me to pull together a post, I have also sometimes suffered from a bit of an 'identity crisis', meaning that I'm not always sure who my readers are, and therefore what interests them. When I first began the Arzigogolare blog in 2009, my audience was mainly people who had read The Piazzas of Florence (since that was the initial impetus for my website & blog), but then it began to include customers for PaperSynthesis, my online shop, as well. (If the latter, you wouldn't have found very much happening in the shop during 2012, as most of my time went toward the development of new projects). And now it seems that, going by those who leave (much-appreciated) comments, many of you are artists. In any case, I hope that—however you managed to find your way here—there's something of interest for each of you, between updates on the latest happenings in the studio, the details of everyday life in Florence & PaperSynthesis news. I am always trying to better integrate the different parts of my life, so it feels right to me to continue bringing everything together in a single place.

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In honor of this new year of blogging—and a fresh new year of projects—I decided to completely empty my studio desk today (see photo above). I actually use the dining table as my main studio table, as a smaller table serves our usual 'party of 2' just fine...and you can never have too much work space. Along with all other horizontal surfaces (including the floor & the steps up to the 'attic'), the table is usually extremely cluttered, so I am basking in its serene emptiness tonight.

One of the things I finally hope to bring to life this year is the 12x12 project I had mentioned a few times last year; while I carried it forth quietly, and allowed it to guide some of my blog posts, it was still evolving as the year unfolded. Basically, it's a way to mark/record/define the passing of the year in a dozen different ways. This year I hope to talk more about the twelve monthly elements: words, colors, materials, flowers, recipes, fruits, books, to name a few.

And on that note, white is the color I associate with January: it's a time of fresh new beginnings—like an empty page or a blank canvas waiting for words, lines, color...a story. Even down to its being white, the studio table (momentarily cleared) seems like a perfect symbol for this first month of the year.

Continuing the theme of white, below is a peak at my favorite winter flower—Paperwhites—which I was thrilled to find yesterday (they are rare in Florence for some reason). I had a ball photographing them this afternoon, and will post some images once I have a chance to sort through them.

Much of the month so far has been spent gathering things—materials, photos, ideas—so my word for this January is 'gather'. More soon...in the meanwhile, happy gathering to all of you.

On the twelfth day of Christmas...

 
It's hard to believe we are already ensconced in 2013. I thought I would be able to manage a 'Twelfth Day of Christmas' post with plenty of time to spare, but ended up getting distracted by the photos I was selecting from...so now it's officially (the wee hours of) Epiphany in Italy—and time to say 'buona Befana' (read a few details about La Befana in this post). Some of the world is still enjoying the last of those famous 'twelve days' though, so I will carry on with what I started.

As I was sorting through photos earlier today, with an eye toward finally putting together a holiday greeting, I came across a lot of red. Since I began participating in last year's ROY G BIV color challenge just after the 'RED' month (but had always meant to make up for it at some point), I decided to focus on red this afternoon. Between making our first-ever tiramisù (delicious! I'll translate the recipe we used & post it at some point), the engrossing search for red & a movie night with my daughter, I never did get to the holiday cards—maybe some people will find their way here...

First are a few images of a cyclamen plant that my mother bought when she and my father first arrived in Italy mid-December. Pleased though I was (I had been meaning to buy something Christmas-y, so it was such a nice surprise to find it on the dining table), I must admit that I've never had a true appreciation for cyclamens...maybe this is because they are as common as poinsettias here during the holidays. It seems the best way for me to find beauty in something is to spend some time getting to know it a little better. This often means pulling out the camera, so I brought the cyclamen into the studio one afternoon and took a fresh look at it through the lens.

I found the velvety petals to be very beautiful when considered individually, especially the almost haphazard way they unfurl. I also liked finding the tightly rolled buds hidden among the reddish-purple stems. But I think my favorite discovery happened when I crouched down and looked up at the undersides of the flowers...they are surprisingly 'structured', and in fact, almost appear to be inside out—as if the underside is actually the inside of the blossom—much like an umbrella that's been turned inside-out by a strong gust of wind (perhaps you can see what I mean in the lower right image).

The lighting was a little harsh/cold, so I tried to tone down the images to compensate for the contrast between the red & white. (The photo at the top has been blatantly photoshopped; I liked the composition of the mass of petals, but they were rendered overly vibrant in the available light...I do miss the abundance of warm sunshine and its assistance with photo-taking!)

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Below are a few more red-themed images, taken at Florence's rose garden/in the studio:

• the early stages of the fruits of a miniature pomegranate tree
• a fragrant Modì, an apple I discovered this past fall—a beautiful balance between crisp & sweet
• my favorite Venetian glass bead necklace
• brand new leaves emerging from a festive-looking bush
• a split pomegranate that the birds have been enjoying 
• detail of a favorite embroidered wall hanging I bought in Beijing several years ago

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And—to conclude the 'Twelve Days of Christmas'—a twelfth & final image, with the faintest hint of red-tinged leaves soon after sunrise in Montepulciano last week ...

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{Jennifer Coyne Qudeen & Julie Booth are proposing a continuation of the 'addendum' to ROY G BIV for January—this time a combo of black & white. Click here for the guidelines if you'd like to play along on the third Thursday of the month (17 January).}