Wiltse Hill Vintage

Last September, I started a project that had lived for some time in the back of my brain. I'd been thinking on the periphery about opening a shop, collecting and curating racks of simple, elegant pieces and funky, bold ones, and opening my doors. Really, though, bricks and mortar never seemed like a realistic immediate future, especially with limited, nearly non-existent resources. Time is the resource I had at my disposal this fall, so I threw the full weight of it behind a smaller risk. Instead of bricks, I have Etsy.

Named for one of the only streets in a tiny village in upstate New York where my family has deep roots, Wiltse Hill is like this precious embarrassing little project that I'm both so proud of and so shy about. As much confidence as I may have, doubt is right there along for the ride, and goddamn is the internet the worst place to air your self-doubts. It took me several months to even begin sharing the shop, slowly and quietly, and I still have to wrench publicity out of myself. Of course, of course I know, because duh, that the shop will only be even moderately successful if it's shared, if people know about it, if I invest in publicity. But - you know, proud and shy.

In that spirit. Here it is, again: Wiltse Hill Vintage.

One thing I'm trying to do, because I genuinely value it, is to find and curate vintage clothes for bodies of all shapes and sizes. That's proven difficult, but not impossible - I don't know what happened to the clothes worn by larger women fifty years ago, but they've got to be out there somewhere. It's so easy to find a million size twos, tiny waists, unforgiving seaming. And I'm admittedly, a size that fits those standards pretty well - although crazy tall, which is a challenge of its own. But fuck that - I'm not dressing myself - I want to help other women (or men), of any size, find something they feel awesome in. Not a soapbox, just trying to not be closed to reality.

[Above image is this crazy amazing double-breasted shearling coat - so warm, so well made, so gorgeous]

Reading, lately...

I'm a constant reader, usually in the middle of at least three books, left either in a teetering stack on my bedside table, or around the house for easy pick-up-and-read afternoon action. We have a (sometimes too large) library of beloved books, are active library users, and borrow books from friends. Here are a few of the titles I've been reading, wading through, or lingering in, the last while.

Over the years together, N has given me many gifts, left love notes, hidden surprises, small gestures and large ones. Many of his gifts have been books, because he knows me. For Valentines Day this year N gave me a copy of Home Comforts: The Art & Science of Keeping House by Cheryl Mendelson. Yeah, yeah, he gave his new wife a huge book on how-to-be-a-good-housewife for Valentine's Day. And it was so perfect; his comment when gifting the book was basically "don't take this the wrong way, I just know you'll love this." And of course I have; I love home. I love being at home, keeping a clean, warm and comfortable home, inviting guests into my home, I love it all. I've been luxuriating in slowly making my way through this bible of house keeping, and have found myself referencing sections for guidance on various household tasks I confront (like getting a stain out of a lace tablecloth, or cleaning Venetian blinds). The book also comes up in conversation pretty frequently; a friend was over recently and saw it on the table, and said "Oh, is this book you keep talking about?" Guilty. It's great; we have a few reference books and how-to's on the shelf, but this is one that I will reference for the rest of my life, and will gladly share with anyone who's curious.

A friend loaned me his copy of Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, and I'm slowly making my way through it. It took me a few tries to get through the first third of the book, but after putting it down and leaving it several times, I'm solidly in the second half, and am chugging along with moderate interest. Although I don't usually tend towards historical fiction, I enjoy it, and enjoy the complicated politics of court intrigue (one aspect of the Song of Ice and Fire that's so engaging). But damn, is this book hard to follow. After all those put-down-and-pick-back-ups, I kind of realized that it's Mantel's writing style that's so whirling; sure, the  rapid name dropping of dozens of players can be tricky to follow, but more it's her tendency to not use names in rapid fire dialogue, particularly in scenes with multiple characters. Like, maybe there's a few dudes having a loaded conversation about Anne Boleyn in a room full of other dudes who may or may not chime in at any moment, all of whom have extremely differing and specific stakes in the conversation and political climate. It would be helpful, then, to know who's throwing which bomb of court gossip into the mix, yeah? Oof. Despite that, I'm more or less into it now, as the plot picks up, the stakes get higher, and I increasingly understand the author's style. This won't become a book that I reread, but has been a nice contrast to the other fictional worlds my mind has been living in recently.

For our first anniversary, N gave me a copy of The Paper Garden by Molly Peacock. Another killer gift for me, and for our 'paper' anniversary, this memoir slash biography slash art history book weaves the life of Mary Delaney (the inventor, essentially, of modern collage) and her creation of a new art form late in life, with the author's own experience in marriage, art, and midlife. It was an absolutely beautiful read, and I devoured it. Mrs. D, as Peacock affectionately calls her, was an artist in the purest sense of the word. She seems to have lived more fully - through an incredible life in the eighteenth century - by finding artistic outlets in all corners of her world. Through gardening, collecting, letter writing, music, paper cutting and watercolor, she created thoughtful beauty around her for herself and for her loved ones. The titular paper garden that this book frames itself around is her Flora Delanica, a massive collection of botanically-correct cut-paper flowers, pasted layer after layer onto black paper. They are glorious. Astounding. So. fucking. beautiful. The book itself is lovely; mostly gracefully (sometimes a little heavy handed, but it's forgivable) weaving analysis of the cut-paper-collages with biography (layering both personal and historical relevance into the flowers). It manages to be so many things at once, and all together an engaging, forward moving story of one woman's incredible life and impact.

Through the Looking Lens

[ streets ]

[ wandering views ]

A few images from my day in Phildelphia. With very little money to spend and no one with me, I barely spoke all day, and wandered the city center for hours. The one thing I did splurge on (other than lunch) was a visit to the College of Physicians Mütter Museum, where photography was not allowed. The museum was fascinating, super crowded, and creeped me the fuck out. I have a pretty high tolerance for the macabre, but this was like a slow build of squick. After an hour and a half my head was spinning, my stomach felt densely queasy, and I sped through the last room (which was the most grotesque, natch).  

[ microscopic watercolors c. 1835 ]

Easily my favorite experience of the day was stumbling upon/into an exhibit at the American Philosophical Society called "Through the Looking Lens" - an installation in a single tiny room off the sidewalk of the works of Cornelius Varley, a naturalist, scientist, and painter. The collection of his watercolors at APS (above) ranged from dreamy landscapes to pastoral portraits to depictions of plant matter as seen through his microscope. Swoon.

Stepping into Varley's work was lovely. The reminder that we must make our own work, for ourselves, for our passions, to pursue a question or a fascination, regardless of recognition or immediate impact, was a necessary source of self-reflection. I think about what we leave behind when I think of N's journals; dozens of books filled with his thoughts, processes, drawings and charts, only ever seen by him (and occasionally me, over his shoulder). All of it is vital, for him - some of it is brilliant. Two hundred years from now, will his journals be on display to be studied and inspire? Or will they pass to our children, or to thrift, or be lost in a fire? Does it matter? His love of them and his studious commitment to this kind of private art makes an immediate impact on his own life, and on mine.

What's amazing to me then is to think that everyone has that potential for some private brilliance. Sometimes we're witness to it, but overwhelmingly not. Any person, every person - that bus driver or neighbor or dude yelling in the street - has their own collection of microscopic watercolors.

Summer

Hello!* This has been a summer of constant work and travel. I left my day job at the end of May, for various reasons, and have not yet replaced it. Despite my unemployment, however, I've been working and traveling practically nonstop since mid-May. Back to back (to back) projects this spring means that really, I've been ON since February. The few travels for pleasure have been welcome - last weekend four days in Denver (my first time to CO) with my two oldest friends, celebrating an engagement, a move, a new home - as I can anticipate the next few months being as full as the last few. 

The East Coast has got me this summer. Massachusetts > New York > Pennsylvania > NYC > Van > Vermont. Throw in Oregon and Colorado, and the days at home in Seattle have been like desperate grabs for comfort and lakes and friends and rose on the back porch. Evening walks through the neighborhood with N. My garden. Oh my goodness, the garden. Stillness, and solace . 

Friday night N and I arrived in Swarthmore, PA for the National Puppet Festival (r)evolution. He's in meetings Saturday through Monday, so I've been left to my own devices. Saturday I jumped on the train into Philadelphia** and today have wandered the campus. And this campus .. seriously - it is spectacular. Any snobbery I have about the beauty of my own alma mater has been shut the hell down - especially without a map or guide, my day was spent trying doors and sometimes discovering weird pockets of beauty and even more campus. I could do it again tomorrow, with a camera this time?

* It's been a cool minute since I visited this space. Recent reinvestment in certain artistic outlets nudged me to open it up and begin again. Hoping. 

** On that note, a day spent alone in Phillie re-enforced the need to find/make space for myself. Somehow, yesterday became all about watercolors, and suddenly the whole year has been about watercolors, sneakily. More on this later. 

city city

[ The Olympics and ferry - from Alki, West Seattle ]

I really do love this city.

I knew it was *mine* soon after moving here - the first city I've ever lived in. Very quickly, Seattle and me, we got along. The more or less temperate climate, the just big enough art and music and food scene, the pseudo west coast vibe (we are so not in California) that's slower but just uptight enough for my New England blood to understand, and the mother. fucking. mountains. There is no getting over or used to the intensely raw beauty of the Pacific Northwest. Every time I round a corner and suddenly BOOM mountains in my face - how can I not just lose it?

Recently, I've been feeling the love for the city in what what seems suspiciously like a grown-up way - I've put down roots here, I'm involved and invested in the well being of the city itself, I care who gets elected to office, I recognize people on the street, I have my favorite places.

Reading Rachel's guide to Seattle reminded me again how glad I am that this is where I ended up after college. My very own starter city.

a good egg

[Ova!]

Yesterday a friend pointed me towards this article published in Honolulu Magazine, written by a friend of hers who has donated her eggs six times. I was curious to read about her experience - I've considered the idea of egg donation, for many of the same reasons she first did: quick, "easy" income (embarrassing? but true) to help supplement a dangerously meager income. There are always expenses that we struggle to meet, and always the background thought that if we could just find a source for say... $5,000... we could put it towards that major looming cash-suck (car? travel? wedding? health care?). The most basic research into what a donation would entail has so far scared me off - and Hee's account of the pseudo-menopausal donation month confirms a level of emotional and psychological fragility that I'm not interested in willfully reaching.

This piece, though, resonated with me - from the tangential perspective of reproductive rights, and as a young, educated woman considering the implications of childbirth and both the responsibility and power of my potentially-life-giving-lady-parts. Hee has a compelling voice, and her account is so personal, so brave, that it is at once "uplifting and heartbreaking" (as my friend put it). And not only that, she is a gifted writer - there are moments of poetry in what could be read as a medical account. Writing about her current relationship, and her certainty that they will never have children (although he wants them), she says:

As much as possible, I keep our love wandering the borderlands of my heart, fearing that he will only keep me until he finds a woman who wants the family he wants. (I don’t do this well; love sneaks in, flips on the projector, teasing me with the trailer from our unreleased future together.)

Beautiful, right?

She also acknowledges her own hypocrisy - she expresses not wanting to bring children into a world that has too many hungry and suffering children already, and also notes that she has at least five offspring living in the world (total number of successful births from her donations = unknown).  Considering that the donations went to couples unable to conceive on their own, the numbers kind of even out - if every couple in the world had one child, the population would be halved in a generation. Obviously that's not the reality, but does Hee's choice to not have a family of her own offset the gift of family she's given to so many others? Or does it just complicate her own role in population growth?

Life in the Pacific NW

One of the benefits of managing social media for the day job: stumbling across random links like this. How amazing are these shots captured by Seattle City Light's cameras in the Skagit River Watershed?

[The study this spring captured images of a herd of 30+ elk!]

City Light acquired a large acreage in the Watershed to preserve and enhance (and in some cases restore) natural habitat; as part of the deal for any company that wants to industrialize an area, they need to mitigate their impact through dedicated restoration and/or preservation. There are similar deals being made along the Duwamish River in South Seattle, an area of dense industrialization and struggling habitat. It's amazing to see the diversity of wildlife living and using this one patch of habitat - recognize that little tree in the center of the shot?

[Barn Owl - the hippest owl]

We're sometimes campers, sometimes hikers, sometimes backpackers (every year, we wish we were more so), but rarely do we get to experience such a close up relationship to the animals in our region. These images are making me jealous of Seattle City Light...

[Black. Bear.]