I love white. I love simplicity. I love purity. I love clean surfaces. I love sharp lines. I love minimalism.
I tear page after page out of magazines as inspiration. Yes, I murmur under my breath....that's what I am after. So fresh, so zen, so clean. My head nods but there's no one in the room. (Apparently, I like to agree with myself .) The Swedish,the contemporary, the stark.....it all calls out to me. I sort, I stack, I file. I take notes that say things like: clear glass vases, white porcelain birds, creamy silk twill....
Sigh, then I rush out and buy the tribal, the carved, the embroidered, the turquoise, the fluffy, the patterned, the painted, the shiny..... Oh dear. ... I am a style schizophrenic. Somebody please check me into the clinic made to help people like me.... Actually, now that I think about it.... a white crisp room, a freshly starched strait jacket...... Why, it's all so modern in it's own way, isn't it? It might be just the design rehab I need....
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An antique three-dimensional Moroccan Zouak cornice from Fes with gold leaf, to be placed over a bed in Peacock Pavilions.
A vintage wood game purchased in Ghana, set against a wool table cloth with intricate hand embroidery bought in Rajasthan.
A large, old turquoise Moroccan urn, in front of huge tiger patterned floor pillows.
A Namibian tribal basket on an antique carved Moroccan chest bought in Meknes.
