Skip to content

Archive for

Happy Hands How To Mend

July 31st, 2009

Daniel Pontius

In my ever expanding desire to put my powers to good use, I’ve been studying up and perfecting my stitching. A stitch in time saves nine, and how! You Tube as you may imagine has some good videos; what they lack in flair, they make up for in their instruction. I have been dabbling in my own happy hands at home videos–more flair hopeful instruction–although I have been told that a 14 minute video on sewing on a curtain ring may stretch even the most attentive and eager student’s attention span.
Here is what I have found. If you would like to learn how to sew an invisible zipper, Otis School of Design will answer all the questions that have been keeping you up at night.
Below is a nice little video for you Happy Hands at Home folks. There is a little surprise at the end so make sure you watch to the end. I let out a little, gasp of satisfaction & delight with the results. Suddenly, so many things to do.

1 Comment

Get Excited & Make Things

July 29th, 2009

Daniel Pontius




Madge Gill
London, England
1884-1961

Madge Gill lived in a children’s home until she was nineteen when she moved to Ilford to stay with an aunt who introduced her to spiritual séances. Married at twenty-three, Gill had three sons, the second of whom, Reggie, died of influenza in 1918. After losing an eye and almost dying while giving birth to a stillborn daughter, Gill began to paint and draw. She usually worked in bed by oil lamp; sometimes she painted in complete darkness. Gill consistently depicted the female form, often set against abstract, architectural lines, crosses and zigzags. The name MYRNINTEREST often appears in her pictures, which might mean ‘mine innerest self’. Her son claimed that she believed her work was guided by a spirit, although she denied this in public. Around 1935 she began weekly séances and first showed her work at the East End Academy. By the time she died Gill had hundreds of drawings piled in her wardrobe and underneath her bed. Her work gained recognition at the Hayward Gallery’s Outsider show in 1979.

Taken from The Tate.

2 Comments

Get Excited & Make Things

July 29th, 2009

Daniel Pontius




Madge Gill
London, England
1884-1961

Madge Gill lived in a children’s home until she was nineteen when she moved to Ilford to stay with an aunt who introduced her to spiritual séances. Married at twenty-three, Gill had three sons, the second of whom, Reggie, died of influenza in 1918. After losing an eye and almost dying while giving birth to a stillborn daughter, Gill began to paint and draw. She usually worked in bed by oil lamp; sometimes she painted in complete darkness. Gill consistently depicted the female form, often set against abstract, architectural lines, crosses and zigzags. The name MYRNINTEREST often appears in her pictures, which might mean ‘mine innerest self’. Her son claimed that she believed her work was guided by a spirit, although she denied this in public. Around 1935 she began weekly séances and first showed her work at the East End Academy. By the time she died Gill had hundreds of drawings piled in her wardrobe and underneath her bed. Her work gained recognition at the Hayward Gallery’s Outsider show in 1979.

Taken from The Tate.

Leave a comment

It is a great art to saunter.

July 22nd, 2009

Daniel Pontius








The narrative is evident. After a gap over the last summer months Isabella and I had a lovely conversation Thursday evening: Isabella tucked away in her high rise in NYC and I eagerly posed with a cocktail on my rooftop. Some of you may remember Isabella La Fitte from earlier posts: here, here & here. She has been roaming Manhattan–parties parties– and then back to the solitude of her Tribeca apartment aptly named Walden: it is far better than The Hamptons which she says is the East Coast’s answer to Brentwood.

But, Isabella has been so so sad lately, “SO SAD!” Not just because of a cold, due she says, to the rain which has caused everyone to be lingering tubercular. She is sad because I emailed her several weeks ago and told her I had finished with Bibelots. “Finished!” I said.

“Why?” She asked, “It is my favorite. What will I do?”

“Go back to the Classics.” I answered, “What else is there to do but follow me. I started something new: 1 car per green.”

“Dearest Pontius,” Isabella told me. “Los Angeles is not that inspiring.”

The narrative is evident. Inspiration left before the momentum built and 1 Car per Green ended almost before it began. I thought I’d give it all up until one day (like any other day) I came across a stack of World of Interiors from the 90’s where I was happily dropped into a Paris Apartment by Jean Dunand. Here it was photographed in it’s pristine original condition untouched–as they say– by time.

The gold leaf still bright, the rabbit fur sofa and bed spread pristine and white. The Living room was my favorite, silver and pale blue and gilt. Chairs exquisite turned into graceful serpentine curves. Sigh. Who says context is not decisive? Living in this kind of apartment, one would become a different person. It would inspire a sartorial lift! One would act on a new stage preparing lines for a new play.

One of my favorite design books is “Decorating is Fun!” In it, Mrs. Draper shares a charming story of the transformation of one of her clients.As I recall it, the client is a young single woman who has newly inherited a frumpy & plain apartment. She herself is frumpy and plain. She is without prospects and in comes to Mrs. Draper for a little help, and how. From the redecoration of the apartment, the young lady goes through her own personal redo. She starts going to the hairdresser. She starts to wear make up. She takes an interest in her clothing. People start to take an interest in her! Before you know it she tosses out her glasses and is engaged to be married.
It’s the intrigue of the environment which I have seen myself. In London I worked for the stylish decorator, Gillian Rogerson. There was a client coined, Miss Grey.

Miss Grey’s whole apartment was grey: the walls; the curtains; the carpet; the furniture. She wore grey clothes. She had grey hair and even grey eyes. At first, she only considered grey, but after about a month inspired by Ms. Rogerson’s own flair one day Miss Grey appeared with alacrity at the door to answer the bell in bright red lipstick a pale blue sweater and pearls, smiling.

Back to Paris. The narrative is evident, but with a surprising turn of events. The woman who owned the Art Deco Apartment lived not in the main rooms themselves but a rear bedroom. A converted maid’s room. The commissioned rooms; those works of art, were tightly shut up. Light never poured through the windows, cocktails must have hardly ever poured. She went to great lengths to maintain it. The shutters tightly closed — her servants ordered to put tissue paper in between the cracks so that no possibility of fading could occur. I imagine her admiring it all from a threshold.

Long sad sigh here for beauty should be enjoyed and assimilated. Certainly there is a carefree medium between an extreme preservation and utter decay. A place where if you spill, all does not end, because life will continue along it’s way regardless.

1 Comment