Preparing for fall, redecorating, newly joined Art Nouveau class, and I’m thinking about early twentieth century illustrators.   Lately I’ve been collecting images by J.C. Leyendecker.  I was shocked when I realized that today that I unwittingly to run by his magnificent old estate every morning on my loop!

As states Wikipedia, “The premier illustrator for the enormously popular Saturday Evening Post for much of the first half of the 20th century, Leyendecker’s work both reflected and helped mold many of the visual aspects of the era’s culture in America. The mainstream image of Santa Claus as a jolly fat man in a red fur-trimmed coat was popularized by Leyendecker, as was the image of the New Year Baby. The tradition of giving flowers as a gift on Mother’s Day was started by Leyendecker’s May 30, 1914 Saturday Evening Post cover depicting a young bellhop carrying hyacinths.”  Who knew?

]]> http://pambristow.com/2010/08/26/leyens-eye/feed/ 0 http://pambristow.com/2010/02/26/remain-stationery-2/ http://pambristow.com/2010/02/26/remain-stationery-2/#comments Fri, 26 Feb 2010 16:52:09 +0000 Pam Bristow http://pambristow.com/?p=4433 Great piece on Refinery 29 on our little gem, Bowne & Co. Stationers.

How can you not love this woman? Latifah is definitely my biggest girl-crush ever.  Shout to Paper Magazine for getting me this close to one of my favorite women of all time – even if her very intense bodyguard shattered any possibility of a peck on the cheek…

Coinciding with the 75th Birthday of Brigitte Bardot on 28th September 2009, the James Hyman Gallery in London presents an exhibition of vintage photographs by some of the most famous paparazzi photographers of the 1960s.  The collection of Bardot snaps is enough to make my head spin.  Here’s to the grande dame of JROBS (Just-Rolled-Out-of-Bed-Sexy)

BRIGITTE BARDOT AND THE ORIGINAL PAPARAZZI.

AN EXHIBITION OF RARE ORIGINAL VINTAGE PHOTOGRAPHS

03.09.2009 – 03.10.2009

AT THE JAMES HYMAN GALLERY

Great little clip on the Taschen site about my current fave artist.

Have leisurely lie-in and wake up at our beautiful riad at 9ish.  After fab traditional Moroccan breakfast head into ancient Fez.  The oldest living medieval city in the world, the Fez’s medina is a completely indecipherable labyrinth of covered passageways that make you feel like you’re walking around during the time of Mohammed.  Turn down a slew of over-eager would-be guides (we were warned that even native Moroccans have a hard time navigating these alleyways) and decide to go it alone.  Stumble into spectacular 14th century Koranic school adjacent one of the over 90 mosques in the old city.

Head deeper into the Medina and find amazing strands of tiny colored glass beads we decide to turn into necklaces.  A little boy (10 or 11) attached himself to us and announces he will be our guide for the day.  I shoo him off at first but he’s persistent. We decide we like his energy and let him be our little navigator.  I think of my son Aidan back home – the same age – trying to escort tourists to make some cash for his family. Resolve to bring him back here and teach him a life lesson.  Our guide makes his way around like only a kid who grew up running around these souks could.  We’re snapping photos nonstop – this place is amazing! Then I notice something even more incredible. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cristina taking a photo of an old woman coming around a bend.  As she snaps the picture I see our little Mustafa tuck a coin in her hand. Then I notice he’s been doing this the entire way, pulling coins out of his pocket and handing them out to the people we photograph.  My heart dies.

Stop at a small cafe and we buy Mustafa a soda and kick our feet up for a while.  Love this Moroccan pace.  He’s fascinated by our cell phones and I let him play the bubble wrap popping game on my iPhone.  The older men huddle around to watch and cheer him on.

Mustafa takes us to see the old caravan house where in the 1300′s Berber craftsmen coming down from the Atlas mountains, would bed their camels and spend a few nights in town selling their wares. The building is now an impeccably restored museum.  Mustafa translates the exhibit and we see a plaque highlighting a UNESCO resolution that gave me goose bumps (check out the pic.)

After a quick visit to the silver and brass souks we ask Mustafa for a lunch recommendation.  He lights up and tells us to follow him.  He takes us really deep into the back alleys – past butcher’s stalls selling camel heads, produce stands, and sardine purveyors – to a tiny spot called Zorhra where we proceed to have one of the most amazing meals to date.  We feed Mustafa till he can’t move.  He decides he wants to take some pictures with us and we indulge him.  He tells us about his 79 year old father, his sisters, and an uncle in Marseille.  He asks us how to pronounce a bunch of words in English and explaines that he learned Arabic and French in school and Spanish and English from the tourists.  I ask him why he’s not in school today.  He says it’s closed.  I tell him I dont believe him and he giggles. He blows our minds.

After lunch decide its time to head back and ask Mustafa to lead us out of the souks.  I kiss him goodbye three times in the traditional Moroccan way and hand him 100 dirham which should feed his family for a month, although he’ll probably give half of it away.  He disappears as quickly as he showed up and I get a little knot in my throat knowing we’ll never see him again.

When we get back to the riad we have a glass of wine in the courtyard and ask our waiter what “Mustafa” means in Arabic.  He says it’s the name of the Prophet… The other name of Mohammed. We decide we have a new standard for the men in our lives and a barometer for all future decisions… “What would Mustafa do?”

Freshen up back at hotel and go to the Palais Jamais for a cocktail.  It’s dark now and we take a ride around the perimeter of the city walls which are all lit up against the black sky. Catch belly-dancing performance in awesome dining room.  Head over to Riad Fez to check out the scene there but it’s closed.  Have no idea where we are – lost in a very quiet are of the Medina.  Old non-English speaking man with a staff and an uncanny resemblance to Moses asks us where we’re going in Arabic.  We give him the name of our hotel and he escorts us all the way back on foot.

Back in the hotel courtyard we recap the day on lounge chairs under the moon. Consider taking leaving for Tangier a day early to get to the coast and maybe take a day trip acroos the Strait of Gibraltar to Spain.  Try to call the hotel in Tangier to book an extra night but there’s no answer.  I try a few times and get frustrated.  Cristina says to stop trying.  About ten minutes later a huge flock of birds (again) flies over our heads squawking.  She says “try now”.  They answer and have the exact room we want available for the extra night.

Head up to bed.  Barricade selves in non-haunted room half.  Door of armoire creaks open slowly by itself.  We crack up and pass out.

Here’s a video for her song Sole, Mare, Cielo, Amore, sung in Italian… I love that the words dont match up with her perfect mouth and how she looks like she’s had one too many red, white, or yellow pills. And the construction paper heart. It’s like Cocteau Twins if Elizabeth Fraser had been a gorgeous skinny French blond with perfect cheekbones.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1Z-eAZg3-8&hl=en&fs=1]

Amazing images from André Courrèges‘ heyday in Assouline‘s beautiful tome. Why no one has re-taken this bull by the horns is beyond me. Maybe some things are better left alone.

“Sex. Fire. Soul. Voodoo.” That’s how Cuba’s Soul Sister Number One was described. Couldn’t be more accurate.

Born Guadalupe Victoria Yolí Raymond in Santiago de Cuba in 1936, she was known as La Lupe or La Yiyiyi by her adoring fans. Her groundbreaking musical talent and performance style made her one of Cuba’s most brilliant exports. Unlike the well-behaved Celia Cruz, La Lupe was a wild woman, given passionately to her emotions in any moment. This was a trait that landed her in her fair share of trouble, and some say, doomed her career. But her theatrics were not a distraction to compensate for a lack of talent as is so often the case – singing prowess she had in spades. Her early career in Havana attracted devoted followers including Ernest Hemingway, Tennessee Williams, Jean Paul Satre, Simone de Beauvoir and Marlon Brando.

The sixties saw La Lupe become the most acclaimed Latin singer in New York City, partly due to her partnership with salsa sensation Tito Puente. The Bronx resident was the first Latin singer to sell out a concert at Madison Square Garden. Watching her performances still gives me chills.

Sadly, her later success was dulled by an emotional instability that led to rumors of drug addiction, ill health, and a spilt with Puente. A fire made her homeless in the eighties and she was destitute throughout her late forties and early fifties. She died at 55 and is interred in Saint Raymond’s Cemetery in the Bronx. This clip from a documentary about her amazing life is a must-see.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVFiARqIpW8&hl=en&fs=1]