A few more favorites from Ann Sacks. I'd put the peonies, above, around an outdoor vestibule. They make my heart swell with happiness. They speak of peace. I'd love passing through them each time I came home. Joy. (I don't know if Ann & Co. call them peonies, but that is what they are to me.)
These are brilliant, and remind me of dogwood trees in the woods back home, Virginia and New York: of something sacred and strong. They connote safety. Maybe eternity?
These are copper. They are like brave pennies that have been magically transformed...that, alone, makes me want to line them up so that they might march behind my stove and countertop. There is something very happy about these marching ex-pennies. Something warm.
This is grace and growth, a lovely geometry for one's home.
Mad about these. Recycled, if I recall. Nifty luster, warm
silvery strength that will play happy foil to Master Stainless.
Richard Habib was a most excellent guide as we swept through his space (Alexander's Decorative Rugs)...there's much to learn: Richard has an astonishing breadth of knowledge. And a great view (just look through that window!).
Once the French Revolution really got rolling, you'd probably want to have hidden this gorgeous piece of work (Vive Le Roi). Don't lose your head over it. Just pack it up tidily and dash off in nearest non-gilded carriage. Send Marie Antoinette lovely thank-you letter. Get out of town. Stow treasured needlework in voluminous skirt. Go. Now.
Above, the delightful Jim Gallagher, who spent an awfully long time and was the soul of patience answering (so very many) questions about the exquisite pieces in his shop.
So completely smitten was I by the finds from the flea market in Paris (top photos), and the Italian bits (bottom) and everything else (coming in next post) that I can't exactly remember any details. I could call my wonderful cohort on this mission and have her try to fill me in, but neither of us had pencil or paper as we stood, entranced, listening to the stories behind each of these pieces.
Suffice it to say that Jim knows his stuff, has a unfailingly elegant eye, and can tell you everything you need to know when you visit him at the San Francisco Design Center.
You can wander around (click here). You can listen to one of his stories.
You can only imagine how amazingly peculiar it must have been to be in his marvelous head. But now you can be in his marvelous shed. (Yes, they actually call it a hut. But hut doesn't rhyme with head, and if I change it now I have to rewrite the whole post. So. Hut, shed, let's just move ahead...)