Looking through our family photos, searching for something else, I noticed that we had so many wedding photos. I have never been that interested in weddings and only since my best friend’s upcoming one this summer have I payed them much attention. I think it’s just the dresses really, the thought that goes into what they will wear on such a momentous day. Also, due to the same friend, I am now obsessed with trashy American wedding dress programmes on TV.
1920’s – 1930’s…
I like to look through these photos and imagine when they chose it. How they knew that this was ‘the dress’ and whether their mothers cried like they do on the TV.
My grandma above.
This is my parent’s wedding, never going for the ordinary; mum chose a bright blue ensemble with matching eyeshadow.
We visited this gem whilst in Mexico City. The Palacio de Bellas Artes is a cultural centre for the country and a meeting point in the city. Completed in 1934, the Art Deco interior is incredible and one of my favourite styles of design for its glamour; gold and marble, geometric pattern and bold colour.
As you walk around Mexico City, you start to wonder if you are drunk. Huge old buildings are lopsided, windows and doors are crooked…it wasn’t the drinks you had the night before, the city is actually sinking! Built on top of wet marshy land, the big old heavy buildings are slowly getting sucked into the ground. In the Palace the theatre has sunk 4metres since the day it was built.
This GIANT spider has been creeping around the world, temporarily living outside the palace was “Maman” by Louise Bourgeois. When you stand underneath her belly you can see that she has 17 grey and white marble eggs in her sac.
My mum was allowed to go to art college. When she told my grandparents of her plans my grandma walked out and didn’t return for days, certain that mum was going to become a drug addicted hippy. Art college led on to a degree in jewellery design and a career in London. Luckily for me my grandma backed down as now I have some of the most beautiful one off pieces of jewellery.
These are two of my favourites from when mum was studying…..and (to Nana’s relief) not addicted to drugs.
Grace in the polka dots and me in the black velvet.
New years for me has never been about having a wild night out. This year I spent it with my good friend’s family, drinking wine, eating baba ganoush and dancing to absolute 80’s on the radio. We both wore our mum’s vintage dresses, paired with slippers and a nice glass of wine.
My dream as a four (and twenty four) year old was to be a ballerina. Gracefulness, however, has never come naturally to me and ever since my one disappointing lesson as a child I have preferred to watch.
I found this beautiful book of Russian prima ballerina Violetta Elvin.
A girl can dream…
“Miss Elvin….a quiet beauty with the soft romantic quality that eludes so many dancers…bringing a magic which moves even the most hardened ballet-goers.”
Seventy-five pounds got you an awful lot in the 60’s, for my mum it was a cruise around Europe. According to her, if you ignored the sea-sickness; smelly, windowless dorm rooms and giant cockroaches; it was actually an enjoyable experience.
Here is the scrapbook made of the two week trip cruising from Venice to Gibraltar…
My thirteen year old mum wrote of how “it is not much fun shopping in Syracuse for the boys pester you.”
A beautiful photo taken by my grandparents.
The “huipil”. The most beautiful embroidered tunic worn by the ladies of Central America since before the 15th century. The creation of one is passed down from mother to daughter and designs identify which community the wearer is from. The patterns include flowers, animals, birds, and Mayan mythology.
Whilst wandering around the town of Antigua Guatemala, we stumbled across a sale of old, second hand huipils. Layers and layers of hand embroidered history. Heaven….
Each one is individual and personal to the owner. When I bought my lovely huipil, I was fortunate enough to meet the lady’s elderly mother and teacher of this beautiful craft. She told me that her young granddaughters were learning too.
Mother watching over her daughter sewing, Guatemala.
My mother has the biggest collection of books. Luckily for me, she has kept all of her books from when she was little and I was able to enjoy them too. These sweet drawings are by Anne Bullen, a very popular illustrator at the time, and a favourite of my mother’s.
They are from the true story of ‘Gladeye’ the war horse, published in 1939.