The Salton Sea, Southeastern California...
...one of most surreal places on earth. Ah! and now we're getting close to the story: where did my tattoo come from?
My husband, shooting on the slabs.

The weather has been grey and glowering for the past two days, and all three of us just a bit under the weather. That's the only explanation I have for why Q and I spent the evening taking pictures of our feet.
Come to think of it, Q has been a bit foot-obsessed lately. It isn't unusual for me to hear a strange, lop-sided, elephantine clumping coming down the hall, only to find her with one tiny foot threaded through one of my heavy platform thongs. With her rubbery little joints, I'm always afraid she's going to twist an ankle...but she's determined to wear mommy's shoes.
Sometimes, when we're walking down the street, she'll stop in the middle of the sidewalk in order to touch her feet, and then my feet, and then her own again, smiling proudly. I'm not sure what it means, but it's sweet.
I heart my girl.

My daughter, who has a way of digging up things out of the depths of my studio that I haven't seen for years, dug this card out of some drawer yesterday.
I was instantly reminded of how absolutely brilliant I found it, and still do.
This business card belongs (or belonged - this was a few years back that he gave it to me) to a good friend of my husband, and the father of Q's best buddy, Esme.
eugene hero was his business concept, and the name of his company (originally, I think, it was meant to be a family venture, including his siblings, an architect and a contemporary artist). There is in fact a website, but it still says "coming soon", even these years later. When I tried to ask him to describe the concept of eugene hero, it was so nebulous and abstract as to be untranslatable...which if anything, I can't help feeling, makes it even more intriguing.
I'd like to tell you what he "does", but that's tricky, as well.
He's an award-winning video artist, a computer geek, a sometime-aspiring-contemporary-painter, a conceptual artist of sorts....the list goes on.
I can't tell you how eager I'd be to see what eugene hero evolves into, if and when it ever does. I think it could launch on the strength of this business card alone. But at the moment, it's erstwhile creator is spending his time being a stay-at-home dad to a two-year-old, and I know how that feels, so...
Well. We'll be keeping our ear to the ground.

The book: Marimekko: Fabrics, Fashion, Architecture (Bard Graduate Centre for Studies in the Decorative Arts, Design & Culture)

Some may remember the strong, revolutionary, iconic designs of Marimekko in the '60s - Marimekko the Finnish design corporation which revolutionized textile design as used both in fashion and the home.
My mother, who knew a good design when she saw it, was a great fan of Marimekko in the '60s. This smock, in fact, was mine when I was a toddler.

Now, my daughter lives almost entirely off of the hand-me-downs of others - friends, sisters-in-law, people in the adoption community. But when it comes to handing baby clothing down from one generation to the next, results can be iffy. Some things just plain disintegrate in the interim. Some are not viable by the time the next generation rolls around - either functionally or stylistically.

But Marimekko holds true.
Thanks, mum....
...as usual, you were right on the mark!

Nanjing old...
Nanjing new.

The hot, humid, bustling, rich, crowded, foetid, fertile, eclectic city with a painful and horrific history.
The city where we first held our daughter.
A memory we will never lose.

I was talking to my mum the other day about my new love for finches. My mother is, I should say, and artist who specializes in birds (though she also does stunning landscapes) so this is really her realm, not mine. In any case, she told me that the lowly finch is something of a darling among artists (I can see why!), and by way of illustration, she sent me this painting by New Zealander Ray Harris-Ching.

.....I ask you.

Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?

(If you're interested in seeing more, his work can be found on the website of the Russel Fink gallery)

Our crazyquilt neighborhood in springtime...
I'm not a cat person, but this cat was looking at us with such force, such character, that I felt compelled to take his picture.
Someone's beautiful porch. Note to self: must find these for back patio this summer.
Q takes it all in.
Our old Sunnyside stomping grounds.

Left over from Easter.
Parasols, outdoors and in a bridal shop window.

I've been in love with yellow lately. I'm sure it's the season. Today, our clear, dry, unequivocal Colorado air was suffused with just a hint of moisture and a tang like air off the sea - warm and cool at once. It was impossible not to smile. Moments like that, there is a cloud of yellow tulle in front of my eyes and everything looks that particular shade of translucent spring sunshine.

In honor of the mood, I'm going to do a post of photos that have been tickling my yellow fancy of late, from some of my favorite bloggers.

(The one above, of course, is my very own Q watering our first flower boxes of the season)

photo credits: amberbyday
From Amber by Day.

photo credits: l'atelier d'audrey
From abcde...wxyz

photo credits: withoutmelissa/stayforeversunday
From Stay Forever Sunday.

From Heidi at Gloubi*bloga.

photo credits: thecherryblossomgirl

From The Cherry Blossom Girl.

From Katie Lockhart.

Ganges, Herault. A familiar town for me. A town I could - and often did - walk to from the Chateau of a warm afternoon, through the sweet-smelling garrigue, and the tall grass meadows, and the grape orchards. Sometimes, among the low hills between, you could hear the low clanking of sheep bells as a shepherd guided his flock through the rocky terrain nearby. Sometimes, in spring, I could hear that sound through the open shutters of my bedroom. I think that there is no more soothing sound...the distant clanking of sheep bells, combined with the scent of the lavender water with which my grandmother sprayed the egyptian cotton sheets.
I love this children-crossing sign...isn't it sweet? I'd put this on the wall of my daughter's nursery if I could.
Another marvellous sign. This, like so many of the little villages in the region, is a town suspended in another era, tranquil amid sun-sparked dust motes and the smell of crushed thyme.