Ordinary Objects and the Poetry of Salvage

Last weekend I climbed through many, many trailers of salvaged architectural bits and bobs, old stoves, rusted pieces of ceiling tin, faded signs, and corroded hinges to find a treasure in the rain.  My sweatshirt was soaked through and my boots were caked with mud as I climbed the rickety steps to the next-to-last trailer in the salvage yard.  I squinted into the gloom, took a few half-hearted steps across the sloping metal floor.  Nothing.  I didn't see a single object that sang to me in the way really special things do when you're on a treasure hunt.  I was just about to turn to head back out into the downpour when my magpie eye caught sight of a soft glint in the shadows on a shelf over my head.  I couldn't tell what it was, but I threw caution--and my fear of tetanus--to the wind and just reached up to grab whatever it was.

Well, it turned out to be the frame that you see in the photo above.  A Victorian beauty, completely intact, with wonderfully worn gilding on its inner edge.  That had been the glint I'd seen.  I had to make it mine.  I cradled it in my arms and went in search of the salvage yard owner.  It turns out he had just placed the frame on that shelf earlier in the afternoon.  When I say "placed," I don't mean displayed.  It was just sort of lying there on the top shelf, nearly out of sight in one trailer out of several that were packed to the gills with jars of springs, boxes of brackets, and bins of rake handles.  

When the owner offered to sell me the frame for the little bit of cash I had in my pocket, I knew two things immediately: 1) I will buy more treasures from him, and 2) this frame was going to be important for me, for my photos, for the vision I have of where I want my work to go.

I believe in the stories that beautifully made things can tell us--in the texture of history, the poetry of ordinary objects.  That is one of the aspects of still life photography that appeals to me most. This photo is the first in what I hope will be a series of photos featuring my newly found treasure.  I believe this old frame will help me dream up countless stories in the weeks and months to come.  

Finding Home

On the wall, an oil painting by my friend, painter Nancy Nichols-Pethick.

What I know of home is a shelf bowing beneath the weight of books, rose hips left to dry in a vase, postcards leaned above the fireplace.  Home is jam jars keeping treasures safe: nutmeg, buttons, paper fortunes.

I thumb through catalogs before I toss them into the blue bin.  "Home," the say again and again, sporting flea market knockoffs for ten times the price of the beauty to be found on a country Sunday.

What I know of home is as warm and slow as sunlight arcing through the afternoon across worn wooden floors.  

It is gatherings of the found and the made, 

worn reminders of someone else's story, someone else's time and place.  

Talismans and touchstones guide us through our days.  The doorknob we've turned a thousand times, the old brass latch, the window sash, the stack of mismatched plates.  

Home is in the wind's rush high above when I open the damper to light a fire; it's in the rumble, hiss, and clank of radiators coming to life as if the house were about to launch into space; and it's there in a shared laugh in the kitchen over a terrible joke we'd never tell another soul. 

Where we live, home is five months of glances out windows, waiting for the first crocus, the first sign of any little bit of green--even as we treasure the cold, if it means another fire on the hearth, another cup of tea.

What I know of home are choices.  Small things, like where to keep the linens or which drawer will hold the batteries, paper clips, and rubber bands.  Quarrels over what's for dinner--who's in the mood for fish or risotto or tacos or greens.  And big questions, too, about how we will use each room to share sunlight, food, moonlight, and friendship.

Mostly I find home when I forget all about catalogs and design and what we do or do not own.  Or more accurately, home finds me in those moments when all that matters in the world is a good sentence in a favorite book or when my arms and legs are sore from digging in the garden (during those seven snow-free months) or shoveling snow (during the other five).  I can arrange and rearrange the furniture--which I have done and will always do--but I know that no matter where the sofa goes, home is in the living. 

Where do you find home--or where does it find you?

Friday Afternoon at Home

I wrote all morning.  I'm working on a writing project that takes up most of my heart, mind, and soul right now, so please forgive me for a wee bit longer as I am less attentive to blogging--my blog and yours included.  

This afternoon my brain needed a break, so I took a few shots around the house of flowers and books.

Anyone who knows me well understands why this blog is called The Magpie's Fancy.  I am a collector of many things; books, keys, and ribbons are among the things I treasure most.  I found this stack of J.M. Barrie's works for a couple of dollars at a used bookstore last year.  An avid Barrie fan, I scooped them up and have loved them ever since.

This antique salt-glazed pitcher is actually my sister's, but she lets me keep it, because she knows how much I covet it.  It has a large crack and can't hold water, so I simply fill a glass with water and slip it inside.  I think these pink stock don't mind one bit.

I allowed a bunch of white ranunculus to dry out over the past few weeks, and I am taken by the graceful curves of their dried stems and the papery wrinkles of their petals.  

The whole city is filled with light today.  Spring has decided to let the cherry trees bloom.  The air tastes like a promise.

I have so much to share with you--a post about John Keats, photos of my beautiful city, thoughts about fear and writing . . . and so much more.  I'm anxious to learn what you have been up to as well.  In the meantime, the weekend is sneaking around the corner.  Hope yours is full of the best kind of surprises.

"With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?"  

~Oscar Wilde

Pinterest Passion

From here.

I'll admit it.  I adore Pinterest.  Social butterflies can keep their Facebook; just let me have my pins.

I've always been a magpie, collecting objects and images and other bits that inspire me, and I feel like Pinterest is the only online outlet that reflects this part of my obsessive personality completely.  Maybe too completely.  

From here.

How do I love it?  Let me count the ways:

1. I can categorize my inspirations any way that I wish.
2. I've always been plagued by half-remembered book titles and recipes, so I love that it helps me remember what would otherwise slip through my memory's sieve.
3. I meet people weekly whose own interests and tastes intersect with my own in surprising ways.  One such person is Carole.  Her boards are full of beauty and surprises.  She is more sophisticated than I am, and this delights me, too!
4. I also get to know old friends--of both the real world and blogging varieties--much better.  For example, my friend Ciara is one of the first people I met through blogging a few years ago, and I have admired her writing and photography ever since.  Through Pinterest I've discovered that we have common tastes in interiors, books, and art.  She is a deeply beautiful and whimsical soul who inspires me daily with her own work as well as her pins.
5. I am becoming better acquainted with my own tastes.  I've always known what I like the moment I see it, but these boards allow me to see in a more coherent way the elements of design that most appeal to my own aesthetic sensibilities.  I'm also becoming much more realistic about the importance of function in any design.  

From here.

Now that I'm getting to know my own loves and needs better, I can tell you without hesitation that my next kitchen will have ample open shelving above and drawers instead of cupboards below.  I can also tell you that I like chandeliers much more than I ever realized I did.  And finally, I can share with you my deep and abiding love for black and white.

From here.

Yes, just look at the picture below.  There's the open shelves.  There's the black and the white--oh, and with little touches of bronze-y gold.  This combination sends me over the moon.

From here.

Since childhood I have collected bits and bobs, letters and numbers like the ones you see below.  

From here.

And typewriters.  And cups.  And bowls.  And frames.  And feathers.  

From here.

The photo below reminds me that in my next house I would like an all-white room with a few key pieces of black furniture and touches of those browns, bronzes, and golds.  The vase of blue delphiniums softens the edges and pulls the look together for me.

From here.

One of my favorite things about Pinterest is that I can collect thoughtful expressions and sayings, all beautifully lettered.  This one below has that gorgeous black and gold I love, but it also reminds me of a favorite line from a favorite childhood story.  Remember Willy Wonka's words: "So shines a good deed in a weary world."  

From here.

So, yes, Pinterest, I adore you, and I doff my hat to you.  

Now, if only I can decide which one . . .

From here.

The Perfect Day

Hi, friends!  I'm doing a guest post over at my friend Kim Klassen's gorgeous and inspiring blog today.  Hooray!  Come on over and read about my dream of a perfect day.

This Week Around the House

Okay, so I promised some photos of home improvement projects around the house, and these are not those.  I'm realizing that most of our home improvement projects, while thrilling to us, will be literally like watching paint dry to everyone else.  Here, though, are some random shots I took around the house this week.  Above are my vintage clay marbles.  Many of my New England friends will know the flea market where I bought these: the Montsweag Flea in Maine.  It's one of my favorite flea markets, ever, and these little guys came stored in this sweet milk bottle.  They live next to my desk.   

If you've been reading my blog for a few months, you are probably beginning to realize by now that I have just a bit of a collecting habit.  At the same time, and in direct conflict with my collecting tendencies, I hate clutter, so over the years I have developed a solution: many of my collections include items that can be used to store other items.  Brilliant.  Thus my memere's lovely Roseville vase is the home of my knitting needles.  And, as you might have seen in my post from Wednesday, I collect old suitcases and paintboxes.  They house CDs and, well, paints.

The desk above was my father's.  For years his parents rented out a small apartment in their home, and one of their lodgers left this desk behind.  It became my dad's, and when I was a kid I would sit at it writing and drawing and playing with the little drawers and compartments inside.  Now it is mine, and I treasure it.  Some of my favorite books rest on the shelves underneath.  On the top left side next to the lamp is a vintage radio tube that I bought for my husband because he researches and writes about, among other things, early radio at the BBC.  The chair in this photo is an old Haywood Wakefield that I bought for him, too, at one of my mother's antiques shows.  Oh, and I have to mention the pretty leaf lantern made by pachadesign.  

Above is a close-up of the desktop with the beautiful Buddha my mother gave me and and one of a pair of Art Deco lamps she gave us for our wedding anniversary.  We had admired (drooled over) them in her shop, and my thoughtful mum took notice.

Last but not least, it's those paperwhites again!  But I included this photo because it has the only piece of the renovation stuff that wasn't too boring to show.  We took down a godawful light fixture in our master bath and replaced it with something much nicer (I hope), but I was left with all these globe-shaped light bulbs.  I suddenly had the bright idea (forgive the pun) to put them under this cloche.  I actually love them when the sunlight streams through them in the morning.

So now I'm curious . . . What are you collecting these days?  Any favorites or wish list items?

Back at the Brick Store

Yesterday I posted about the objects we treasure, which got me to thinking about a recent visit to my mum's antiques shop, The Brick Store, on Front Street in Bath, Maine.

She and her partners, Barbara and Jan (who is also Mum's sister), and their other antiques dealer friends who sell in the shop find the prettiest antiques and collectibles.  I always discover something I must have when I'm there.

On my last visit, this clock was one of my favorites, but I have to tell you that I also got a big kick from these "jewel"-encrusted vintage pet collars below!

From the graceful

to the nostalgic

to the beautifully practical (ironstone's my absolute favorite)

and the stunningly elegant (Tiffany bamboo flatware in sterling), their shop is just the best.  I think some of these gorgeous pieces have sold since I was last there, but they always have new and enticing items.  I just found an amazing little objet for a sweet friend for Christmas.  I can barely stand keeping it secret until then.  In fact, I'll probably break down before then.

Here's Polly (my mum), Jan, and Barbara at the shop.  They are the friendliest and funniest gals around.  There's never a dull moment when you visit Brick Store Antiques.  On an average day, about half the town stops in for a chat.  Their shop epitomizes what's best about shopping locally at funky places with pretty windows, creaky wooden floors, and friendly shopkeepers who love their work and know their merchandise.  At Christmas I stay as far away from shopping malls as I can.  Instead, I seek stores like my mum's, where the little bell rings as you walk in the door, there's a bowl of butterscotch candy on the counter, and the owners remember you from one visit to the next.  

Treasure

I often think about the objects I treasure.  Most of them are not intrinsically valuable.  No one would race into a bidding war for them at an auction, and yet I find myself drawn to them, sometimes because of the memories I associate with them, other times because of a certain beauty I find in them.

Old bottles, like the ones above that I photographed at Portland Architectural Salvage, often speak to me, especially those that have been unearthed after years in the ground and to which the dirt still clings.  Silent mysteries, they speak of another time, of places and people and uses that I love to try to imagine.  Maybe that's what I value in certain objects: they seem to tell a story.  I especially tend to love old keys, ironstone pitchers, wooden bowls, old tools and anything crafted from metal.  I also adore vintage photographs and paper goods, bits of string, lace, or other textiles, and mismatched pieces of silver, especially spoons.  Of course, those objects are most wonderful when I've received them as a gift from someone I love or when I've discovered them completely by accident, as if by fate.

What do you treasure?  What two or three things in your home do you find most beautiful or most beloved?  What about them speaks to you most?

Secret Treasures Revealed

I've been away for a few days, my friends.  Well, I've been here, but I've been writing and immersing myself in the work that needs to be done.  When I need a break from sentences, I go scavenging for treasures, as you've been seeing in recent posts.  A few weeks ago I bought an old, beat-up painter's box at a yard sale.  I own many of these boxes, and I use them to store art supplies, trinkets, bits and magpie-baubles.  This particular box I love.  It's spattered and smeared with paint--a well-loved, well-used box, just right for housing treasures:

a vintage-style postcard from the island,

wave-worn stones,

pieces of birch bark curling like parchment, 

tiny pine cones, dried Queen Anne's lace,

gull feathers, berries and greens,

dried lavender blossoms, white sea shells,

and the unseen but deeply felt scent of the sea.

Hope you're having a beautiful week.  

Thank you for inspiring me every single day.