The September Issue

Let's talk shelter mags for a minute here:  1. Architectural Digest used to be total crapola.  Like, really bad.  Then 2.  Margaret Russel left her post as Editor in Chief at Elle Decor for the same position at AD last fall and ever since 3.  Architectural Digest has been pretty awesome.  Simultaniously 4.  Elle Decor: not so good (as evidenced by this cover, hello zombi cox).  However, and this is what I really want to talk about today 5.  The September issue of Elle Decore Brought. It.  It killed.  Not only was it better than AD, it was easily one of the best issues of ED I've ever ever seen. My very favorite article featured the San Antonio home of designer Gwynn Griffith and, wouldn't you know it, my scanner doesn't work and there are NO pictures of this home online save one crappy one:

No justice is done here and I encourage you to pick up the rag and check it out.  Meanwhile, I'll show you pictures of another stunning home from the September Issue which probably has Erin panting and sweating with all it's acid-waspy wonder:

Behold, the San Francisco home of Alexis and Trevor Traina. Exaggerated proportions plus 80's symmetry plus ironic, expensive art = trippy good times.

Yes to all of this.  Even those upholstered dining chairs aren't getting me down, which is unusual

Could you imagine growing up here?  We need to make this happen for Eero

There are, like, 12 elements here that Erin currently has in her home.  I think she might cry when she sees this

Another day another giant ball sculputure right in the middle of a million dollar gallery space.  yawn.

Ficus Figs on steroids: check.

Yes to that tarot card photo.  If I were Erin I could probably tell you who took it.  But I'm not.  I'm Karly, enjoying our all-time record breaking 70th day of triple digit, rain-free heat, not to be confused with Erin who is currently laying on the beaches of Hawaii.  Small difference, easy mix-up.

Also in this issue:  The San Francisco loft of designer Steven Volpe, which is pretty dang awesome.  Just go pick the dumb magazine up already.






Two Crazy Bedrooms and One Mayonnaise Sandwich

Yesterday I made the grueling trek into the northern wilds, home of Ikea. Land of milk and honey. Or so I thought. See, I have long been incubating radical plans to radically update our completely unradical bedroom -- our bedroom that is now headboardless, directionless, and a complete mess (if you don't have kids, judge not lest you be immediately impregnated). Before I headed to Ikea and was completely destroyed by the juggernaut that is ubiquitous Swedish decor, my plans to revolutionize sleeping through the power of psychedelic design were maybe somehow inspired by these rooms:

Minus the barfy dress.

Minus the funny face.

As I stood in front of the racks and racks and racks of duvet covers (while Ike melted down t-10 seconds to naptime), I thought about how I'm supposed to buy a blanket instead of a duvet cover, because duvet covers are so fall 2010. But all I saw were duvet covers. About 5237866 of them. And I know I probably should have gone home and bought a blanket off the interwebs, but I was under pressure from fluorescent lighting and toddler tantrums. Plus I'm tired of looking at the stupid mauge comforter (suspiciously close to this color) on our giant bed. So there I stood -- endlessly, painfully pondering the duvet cover conundrum.

First I picked this up:

And then I put it down, because it had flowery flowers on it and I suspected it would not play well with the giant black panther picture hanging beside our bed. Or the Oriental nightstands. Or the chrome bench. Or pretty much anything in that room.

I bought a white duvet cover. It's not even worth picturing. It's white.

How did my technicolor dreams turn to dust in the wind? Damn you, Ikea, for overwhelming me with your conspicuous overstocking. Whatever. I'm moving on, and I think things are headed in this direction:

Just kidding. It's pretty, but I have too much stuff to live in here.

I have a new plan. It has elements of crazy, but also supports the new white duvet cover theory formula corollary.

Alas, we'll have to discuss it ad infinitum later because I have to go to a biggo photo job right now... someone has to pay for all that crap I bought at Ikea.

Have a good Monday. Do some psycho shopping for me.

[Desire to Inspire, Elle Decor, Magnus Marding]

Architectural Digest Gone Wild!

Will you think less of me if I admit I'm a bit of a shelter mag virgin? Sure, I've been blogging art and interiors for going on three years now, but until recently I depended on the internet for my resources. Thanks to a generous holiday gift, I am now the proud owner of AD and Elle Decor subscriptions. I'm sure trees everywhere are throwing up their branches in disgust, but what can I say? I'm addicted to the glossies already. So I was pretty stoked to get AD. I mean, Margaret Russell at the helm = instant awesomeness, right? Well, my January issue arrived and I was bewildered. The February issue arrived and I was confounded. As it turns out, the current issue is the first with La Russell's indelible mark. So now the March issue has arrived and I've been full on flashed by naked drunken boobies -- metaphorically speaking, of course.

That's not a bad thing. I like boobies.

Heiress and tastemaker Daphne Guinness' New York apartment almost warrants two black bars to cover up the naughty bits. Guinness maintains her space combines, "the shine of Metropolis... with the lush flora of Suddenly, Last Summer... a sort of savage modernism." I have to say that I sort of scratched my head at her apartment until I read that sentence, and then everything just clicked into place for me. I won't post the rest of her home, but you can see it over at 2THEWALLS (a seriously fantastic blog).

Beyond the types of projects featured this month (a glorious home designed by Commune, among them), the biggest change that stands out to me is the photography. I swear, AD homes always looked like nothing so much as mausoleums, darkly photographed using only artificial light. Downright dead and dull.

With Thomas Loof on duty as principal photographer at Guinness' shoot, and the inimitable Francois Halard at the helm of Pierre Passebon's wild and wacky pad (designed in collaboration with Jacques Grange, no less), things are looking a lot brighter. Alive, even.

RIP, old AD. Boobies in your face.