My Marrakesh

Morocco: and a tale of Moroccan carpets and rugs

Because it's almost Summer, I bring you flowery carpets, I bring you colorful carpets, and I bring you lively carpets.....  

Really.

Find  all my beautiful hand picked stock at my shop, Red Thread Souk.  Afordable, and, yes! payment plans possible.

Marrakech: and a tale of seeing is believing

She sat next to me in the airport in Washington.  Our conversation went something like this:

Her: So going to New York?

Me:  Yes, in transit.  I'm actually going to Marrakech.  You know, in Morocco.

Her:  Morocco?  Marrakech?  Wow!  That's amazing.  I mean, I think it's amazing.  I mean, I don't know for sure.  I've never been or anything.  What's it like?  

And I tried to tell her then.  I tried to tell her about the people.  About the way that they looked and dressed and spoke, and the way they patted their heart when they said hello.  I tried to tell her about the medina and the souks, and the shops filled to overflowing.  I tried to tell her about the architecture and the fortresses and the tiles that went on forever.  And I tried to tell her about the grittiness and the craziness and the sometimes sadness.  

But you know....I am not sure that I could really tell her.  Because the words ...they're not enough.   They could never be enough.  Because you have to see it.  You have to experience it.  You have to feel it.  And only then -- yes, only then....

can you know.  

But I will get closer to explaining it to you, if you watch this.

Watchtower of Morocco from Leonardo Dalessandri on Vimeo.

Many thanks to Leonardo for sending this to me.  {His mother's hopes with that name of his were just about on track.}

PS Want more? Subscribe to My Marrakesh here and receive it in your inbox.

Afghanistan and the quest for beauty: a tale of pottery, or sort of

I was thinking what it would be like to have someone -- a stranger -- walk into your pottery studio in Afghanistan, when you were just about to leave.

And to have this person, a woman, a foreigner, admire your work. The lines, the forms, the grace.

And to then -- even though you are late -- decide to reach for your clay.  

And change it.

And at your potter's wheel...  

quickly, so quickly....

have the clay grow

until it is something else.

Transformed

under your fingertips.

I wonder if you knew your power.  Your gift. 

Did you?

Because despite the chaos outside.  Outside those doors.  Outside in those Kabul streets.  Outside in those big buildings where people made decisions, or tried to, or pretended to, that affected other people.  Hundreds of people, thousands of people, millions of people.

Despite all that, I wonder if you knew that your clean slice....

would be remembered.  

Beauty and kindness and generousity have always been  -- and will always be -- a form of salvation.

PS Sculptor Caroline Douglas and her master students are at Peacock Pavilions. Making, sharing, giving.  This blog post is for her, and for them.

PPS Subscribe to My Marrakesh here. 

Marrakesh: and a tale of ridiculousness

Here's wishing you a weekend of ridiculous behavior.  

Call up friends, make plans, and be too silly.

Decompress:-)

Shots of Fatima during the Raven & Lily shoot at Peacock Pavilions.

Marrakech: and a birthday tale of Michelle

Ever since she had come into our lives, she had made things better.  Michelle, our Peacock Pavilions Guest Manager.  I think the universe gave her to us, somehow.  

And it was her birthday.  Well, not quite, but we were celebrating it anyway:-)

We went away to Relais du Lac. 

It was a place on Marrakech's barrage -- outside the city an hour or so.  

The flowers were in bloom.

And ducks milled around with people under thatched roofs.

There was music. The electric violinist let it slip that his regular gig is for the Moroccan royal family. {His hair is very 70's French, don't you think?}

We ordered lunch and drank wine.  And we played ridiculous games.

And acted like goof balls.

And then the cake came on the day that was not her birthday.

She looked happy.

And it felt, well, just like family.  Not a matter of last names but a matter of the heart.

Happy Birthday, Michelle:-)

Images by M. Gin

Caftan 2013: a tale of Moroccan fashion & pictures - part 2

She sat next to me in the audience of the Caftan 2013. Impossibly slim.  Diamonds on her fingers and wrist.  Her Gucci coat folded neatly in her lap.  Her hair falling like a river to her waist.  She leaned towards me and said, That used to be me on that stage for the Caftan fashion shows.  

Oh, I said.  How did it feel, I asked?

Perfect, she said.  And added, Of course.  

I could only imagine...  

Bewitching. Wouldn't you agree?