The Roving Home Notebook

This chair was actually acquired at the flea market, although stumbling across it in the woods makes a far better, if unbelievable, narrative.  It is one of a set of four vintage chairs, painted in an electric sort of aqua to both wake you up and make you happy (you couldn’t ask for much more from a chair).  Our online store is in the midst of a post-winter doldrums revival.  Check back for inventory updates.

The Brooklyn Aesthetic is made manifest by the Brooklyn aesthete, working away in a brick-walled studio somewhere in the heart of Williamsburg.  I’m sure there are many permutations of the hipster idea, and even variations on The Brooklyn Aesthete, but I’m just making a composite picture from what I’ve gleaned from etsy.com and the tabloid shots of actress Michelle Williams at the park. It’s a sort of Ramona Quimby look for 20- and 30-somethings in our place and time as opposed to a kindergartner in 1965. But it is classic, in a way. Cardigans and sensible shoes and single-gear bikes you will always have with you.

If the evidence is to be believed, the Brooklyn look is best expressed through crafty depictions of:

• Birds
• Bicycles
• Terriums
• Typewriters
• Record Players
• The Forest
• Creatures: deer, owls, bunnies, birds (so dominant they get their own category, see above) and the occasional elephant.
• Mustaches (really.)

The aesthetic is, more or less, compelling, but will be curious to check back in 50 - or five - years to see if it has any legs. Handmade things you will always have with you, as any museum collection would indicate, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be keeping that pillow printed with a lemon-yellow owl.

I ordered Elle Decor and House Beautiful last night, in a bid to ward off the darkness.  Now I’m not implying that either venerable publication is in any immediate danger of shutting down - I have no insider knowledge here - but with the Print Publication Grim Reaper (see: Conde Nast executives) cutting a wide swath through shelter magazines in the last few years, nothing is certain anymore (see: House & Garden).  Which is why I sent my sad little $10 per subscription along with a Get Well Soon card.  I’m sure that my $10 will be the last sandbag that keeps the flood from sweeping it all away.  Ten. Dollars.