{getting geometric, paint-chip style}

One of these days, we hope to paint the kitchen a stormy, stony grey. But rather than live with dozens of grey paint swatches taped haphazardly to the wall, I thought it better to give all those samples a point (or three).

Poor Pinterest followers, you've been patiently putting up with months of pins simply labelled "triangles". I love them, the trinity of shapes, just as good right-angled as isosceles, stacked or built into squares.

Some recent favourites:

1. Castle artwork, via Tres Plus Cool  2. Anthropologie quilt  3. Znak mosaic wall decals, via Apartment Therapy  4.  Susanna Vento interior, via Emma's Design Blogg

The pattern I finally settled on is a take on the "flying geese" pattern in quilting -- a pattern I have yet to attempt with fabric, but love the directionality of. If I remember anything from art teachers of yore, it's that every part of a painting works to lead your eye somewhere, and the overall effect can be static or dynamic -- dull or interesting.

Using triangles is perhaps rather an obvious way to explore that idea -- arrows for the eye to follow! -- but a nice base from which to play with colour. Greys, blacks, the palest of pinks... and a little red, of course.

Yes, that's a two-step tutorial -- cut triangle, stick triangle. Repeat.

Note: Glidden's paint samples are by far the best to make things out of, being large, solid squares of colour, without any fancy poke-a-part-out bits. 

Also note: For the backing, I used a sheet of cut-it-yourself mat board. A large piece of paper would work as well, but I've lost the glass to my frame and need something a bit sturdier so there's no mid-section flop-down. 

And a note for Justin: This has been up in the kitchen for four days now -- please notice soon!

{abstract art, junior}

This Christmas, we decided to take advantage of Tilly's new colouring craze. I saw this lovely idea on Pinterest, to frame a child's art along with a photograph of them creating it. 

So, out came the crayons and the camera, and we got to work.

(Can you spot Justin's drawing of a baseball bat bat? Genius)

Of course, when buying the frame, I didn't think to check it was the right size for my photo -- a 5 x 7 frame for a 4 x 6 photo. Rather than leaving blank space around the photo, I cut out an extra big piece of art -- enough to fill the lower frame, and serve as a mat for the photo in the top frame. I love how the colouring overlaps -- because, really, what fun is it to stay within the lines?

Signed and dated, of course, for future reminiscing pleasure. It seems we've got another lover of red in our midst...

Note: Our quilt for this month is finished -- have a look here.

Also Note: I was lucky enough to be a part of The Pickled Herring's Scandinavian Christmas again this year. You can read my post on the Danish nisse here. 

{designed by you}

Over the past few weeks, I've worked with a number of lovely people on custom orders for all sorts of animals. What fun! Though the foxes, bears and deer never get old, it's refreshing to have a big old wolf to sink my teeth into.

It's been so much fun, in fact, that I've got a permanent spot now for anyone wanting to design their own custom piece of art. What will it be next -- armadillos? meerkats? wombats? I can't wait...

P.S. As it's the last week to order before December, all advent calendars in the shop are now 15% off! 

{through the keyhole: into your house}

Over this holiday, we've stopped in to see many of you, family and friends. Perhaps you invited us in for a cup of tea. Perhaps you gave us lunch. Maybe you even let us stay a night (or ten). And now how are we going to thank you? By showing the world your secrets. Your stylish secrets.

Swing low, sweet Tilly! Our cousins, C & A, hung this giant swing from the centre of their playroom, and it was the perfect way to amuse a very energetic two-year-old, a curious Tilly, and a gobsmacked seven-month-old. The large mesh seat could happily hold two children, and looked much more comfortable than the wooden plank versions you usually see in edgy New York apartments (like these).

Again, there's something unusual hanging from the ceiling -- can you tell what it is? This was the dining room in the summerhouse where we stayed (or 'the Oasis' as our cousins, K & K called it), and ripe bunches of grapes dangled above our heads. As you can imagine, fresh fruit was always on the menu.



A stylish house of a smaller size! We spotted this playhouse in the garden at L & JP's housewarming party, and couldn't stop thinking about it. (On the DIY list? More like on the garage floor!)



Another idea from L & JP -- this sweet letter C is on the wall in their daughter's nursery. Unlike the usual painted or ModPodged wooden letters, this beauty was soft and stuffed and covered in fabric. If I can get over my initial dilemma (an 'M' for Matilda, or a 'T' for Tilly?), I'll have a go at making one myself.

And one more shot before we leave them alone... the white nursery, with a single red wall. Beautiful. (Ignore Tilly's slightly non-plussed expression -- she did like the colours, but was a little miffed to have been removed from a large stack of Dick Bruna books and popped into a cot with four other children, simply for the sake of us mothers taking a photo!)

Another red wall, this time at our cousins K & K's real home (as opposed to their summerhouse). I've got a thing for houses. For two years, while studying art, I only painted pictures of houses. This might have rekindled the obsession.

Ever been to someone's loo, and emerged with one of their paintings in your hand? This seaside piece, by St. Ives painter Susie Brooks, was hanging in our friend L's bathroom, and she kindly showed no signs of alarm when I came out holding it -- with clean hands, of course. What I love is that while the sea is painted, the land and houses are left white, simply outlined in black. Landscape painting gone modern?

Though her house is green green completely green, L added a red pepper to the salad to make us feel at home. (And Marimekko napkins for lunch -- the height of luxury!)

And last but not least, a quick shot from I & I (aka Mum and Dad), who have managed to squeeze a gigantic collection of Chinese ceramics into their new home in England. This set of Mao figurines, on top of a cupboard in the kitchen, brings back many happy memories of Dirt Market bargains.

Thanks to all of our wonderful hosts -- we have but a week left now in England before flying home. Tomorrow, we'll be celebrating my grandfather's 90th birthday, so stay tuned for a special party post. Pass the parcel for ninety-year-olds. It's going to be great!

{the art of the acrostic}

Perhaps you didn't have your magnifying glass handy the other day, and wondered what you were supposed to be looking at in this picture from Mad og Bolig magazine.

Well, here's a shot from inside ARoS museum in Aarhus, where we happened to spot the original of one of the framed prints. (Note to ARoS museum police: I'm very sorry, but I didn't spot your white-on-glass 'no camera' signs until too late. If it makes you feel better, we got a parking ticket while inside the museum. Possibly at the very second I took this photo)

Oiseau, by Poul Pedersen, as you can see, is an acrostic. As far as I can tell, it reads: Where, Here, Paris, Stranger, France, Poul. And then downwards, the letters spell Bird. Perhaps not my choice of words, but I love the restrained use of red letters, and the way the words are arranged. With a set of alphabet stencils and a few tubes of acrylic, this would be quite simple to recreate -- either with your own acrostic poetry (ooh la la), or with a meaningful word, place or name in the centre.

After much searching, it seems that Poul Pedersen has kept himself rather quiet. A Danish artist, his paintings all seem to be collected around the Aarhus area, and very few are visible online. How lucky that we did venture into this corner of the Contemporary Art floor of ARoS (most of the art on which inspired rude comments like "I could do that with my eyes closed" and "Tilly made something just like that yesterday with squashed blackberries).

(source)

I did find another of his works, La Toile, that I also love. Unfortunately, my French isn't quite up to deciphering it all: You, Beneath the stars, The stars, Beneath the _______, The _______, Beneath You, The ______. I know, it's turning into a language test over here, but any help on what a toit is would be greatly appreciated. Hopefully it's not too rude to say in the comments.

I've been sketching away already, trying out different words for my own version, ready to paint once we're home again. Any ideas? Do you have any words on your walls?

{magazine break}

You'll have to forgive me. Taking photos of magazine pages, one hand holding the page open, one hand (my wrong hand) holding the camera steady, in the evening light -- it doesn't make for the brightest of pictures. But I loved these ideas, found in Mad og Bolig (the Danish Food and Home) magazine and in the Illums catalogue, so much that I thought you had to see them, too. Make yourself a cup of tea, and have a flick through with me.

This is a bench that I would like Justin to make. The Chunky Monkey, I think I'd call it. Or Fatty Fatty Square Legs. As you might remember, our woodworking skills so far consist of nailing two planks to a fence and calling it a photobooth, but thick beams, straight lines -- how hard could that be?

This is art by Poul. (No, we're not on a first name basis, I just can't remember his surname. Googling 'art by Poul' has, unfortunately, not helped) I saw this in the magazine and loved it, and then, surprise, surprise, we saw one of these same paintings on exhibit in Aarhus. More on that later.

These are luggage tags, made from maps. Let's just add them to the giant list of map projects I've got. (Though we have yet to find a single map to make them all with...)

This is a piece of art I loved. Reading the Danish caption now, I can confidently tell you it is by Michael Brammer. The title, Kareligheden og Speijlaegget I'm not so confident about. Any help, Danes? Any guesses, non-Danes?

This is a pillow. A pillow that looks as if it's been knitted from the inner tubes of bicycle wheels. I wonder what size needles you need to make that?

This is bench number two on Justin's to-build list. Held up by plant pots, the bench lets trees grow up through the seat. Plant big enough trees and you'll have some shade; make them apple trees and you won't have to get up for a snack.

Keep your tools out, Justin -- two circles of plywood and a tree branch, and we've got one of these designer coffee tables. I love that the base would slide under the sofa, so you could have the table over your lap.

And now, something for me to make. Here we've got a pompom circle, a rag rug circle, and what looks like a collection of black felt stones. A perfect set up for a game of The Floor is Made of Lava.

Going straight to my I Could Make That pinboard when I get a chance are these two canvases of small lines. Doesn't it look like marks to count down the days? Perhaps send a canvas to the local prison, and have an inmate keep track of his sentence artily for you.

And, just for fun, some Pantone cups, so you can have a cup of tea while deciding on your paint choices, and... guess who? He's Alfi-licious. He's Alfi-tastic. He's Alfi the super thermos.

That's all. Break's over. What's your favourite magazine for inspirations?

{inside the rainbow}

Have you ever wondered what the inside of a rainbow looks like? No, I'm not advertising Skittles, or high on Lucky Charms. I've got some photos to show you from the amazing exhibit, Your rainbow panorama, by Olafur Eliasson, that we saw in Aarhus.

The panorama is a circular walkway that sits on top of the ARoS art museum, with walls of coloured glass panels. The colours have been arranged according to the colour spectrum, so that one gradually changes into the next.

From inside, you look out over Aarhus, seeing different parts of the city through different tinted panes. The orange section almost made Denmark look sunny (quite an achievement), in an end-of-the-world, sky-of-fire sort of way.

And what a surprise -- an art exhibit that is perfect for energetic toddlers! As a complete, closed-in circle, the panorama was the perfect place for Tilly to run around. The further she ran from us, the closer she got (from the other direction). Perhaps Olafur would be interested in doing an installation on our roof at home?

We didn't stay in the orangey-red section the whole time, and ventured through the eerie yellowy-greens, the deep-sea blues, and surreal pinks and purples, too. Here's a favourite colour combo, taken from outside, for any fellow Swedish-furniture lovers.

With the combination of funky built-in filters in the windows, amazing views, and constrained family members, the rainbow was the perfect spot for a bit of photography. It was very strange, though -- because your eyes adjusted to the different colours and began to see them as normal while inside the walkway, the camera saw things in a much more saturated way. Take this shot of extra-terrestrial Tilly, for example. The dangers of too much broccoli? 

Of course, most of the world won't be in Aarhus anytime soon, but I'm sure you could have a very similar experience if you took a pair of old glasses and some cellophane chocolate bar wrappers and climbed a nearby electricity pole. Your rainbow electrocution. No, please, don't do that. 

{the pinterest challenge: fine art edition}

So, having finished the background yesterday, I started the painting of the dandelions. Did I wait twenty-four hours? Most definitely not. A scant five hours after painting the background, I found the paint brush back in my hand.

I unstuck the paper towel templates as I painted each dandelion head, but kept them nearby as a guide. With the dandelion seeds, I was going for not too hearty, nor too blobby. I know, all very technical.

In case you're wondering about paints, for the flowers I used Burnt Umber brown acrylic and black fabric paint (I'd run out of black acrylic). I'm not sure that's ideal -- they seemed a little shy at first, and took a good deal of stirring to get comfortable enough to mix with each other.

And, of course, there's the obligatory red. Seeing as the painting's beauty came from its complete lack of colour, the red had to be very subtle. Just five small dots, next to the far right stem. Just enough to make sure my granddad, who always says that every work of art needs a dot of red, is happy.



And before we have the final reveal, I just thought I'd remind you of the inspiration (a painting spotted on Pinterest):

Here is our version (I don't know when Mr Dala Horse crept in there... perhaps, subconsciously, I'm putting a spot of red in all my photos now, too):

What do you think? Passable as something to hang on the wall? Justin's kind reaction was "It could be a tracing!" (a la Michael Scott at Pam's art show) I had to laugh at myself as I was trying to copy the little imperfections from the original -- notice the seeds slightly out of place above the second and fourth dandelions?

It turns out there's a whole movement now of people recreating things they've pinned. To see some of the amazing creations, pop over to YHL's Pinterest Challenge.

{photos of paint in various stages of drying}

Today you're going to get a little peek behind the scenes at Red Red. Glamour, this is not. It's the every day, bit-by-bit process of creating, whenever I can fit it in.

This is me painting a white canvas white. Seriously. Someone once told me that canvases should always be painted white first. I can't remember who, I can't remember why. But as the laundry sat unfolded, the dishwasher sat unloaded, and the baby lay sleeping, I painted a white canvas white. It was sort of zen, in a mindless-task-that-has-no-practical-value sort of way.

This is a sketch. A half-hearted, I-can't-be-bothered-to-fill-it-all-in sort of drawing. Recognise it? It's that four dandelion piece of art (from our large art round-up).

This is paint. My artistic friend, Whitney, who has a background in decorative painting, is mixing up a nice shade using colours from her own walls. Check out the toe-decoration -- and she didn't even know her feet were going to be on camera.

And here's me, slapping it on, crissing and crossing and trying not to listen to the perfectionist in my head. Good job you can't see my toes. I'd be like the Ugly Step-Sister of feet.

The base colour done, I then played around with slightly different shades on top -- a layer of the base colour with more white, a layer of the base colour with less white. The bottom layer wasn't quite dry, it turned out, when I started adding new layers, so I got an interesting texture where the half-dry paint below got pulled along with the brush. I meant to do that. Ahem. Not. 

A little darker in the corners, a little lighter in the centre. According to Whitney, this is how multi-millionaires like their walls painted. Ooh la la.

(P.S. By the way, there are three unseen --but very present!-- children in the background, and at all times, one of us was fending off Tilly, who was determined to step in the paint...)

Not wanting to have too much of the pulled-off-paint texture, I'm giving the background a good twenty-four hours to dry before adding the dandelions. But, in preparation, I cut the approximate shapes of the flower heads out of paper towels...

...and taped them to the canvas. (There's no artistic reason for using paper towels -- I was just in the kitchen, and they were handy)

Just like the masters did it. Everyone knows Van Gogh stuck paper towel sunflowers to his canvases before painting...

And I'm sure good ol' Vincent held up his iPhone pic of the art he was copying to check the placement of said sunflowers, too.

Stay tuned! Tomorrow, when it's all dry dry completely dry, I'll add the flowers.