Spine observations


I stumbled across this image in a typical Swedish interiors book. Full of  'miss-matched' furniture, stripped back wooden floors, classic scandinavian design, string shelves, novelty slogan posters and tea-towels. The book was titled 'Details', focusing on small well curated corners of apartments, and various 'quirky' items - such as a two-page spread devoted to toilet paper holders - intended to spruce up your home. Styling tip! It's all in the details apparently. My eyes latched on to this photo by pure chance - initially drawn to the beautiful chair-as-bedside table and rough white-washed walls, but on closer inspection was amazed to recognise the artfully stacked pile of books on the windowsill, realising them to be a collection of Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö's crime novels, written in the 60's and 70's, featuring the protagonist Martin Beck. I have my own collection of these at home (up on my string shelf in fact), trophies from extensive and dedicated rummaging through second hand stores. These were the first books I read in Swedish. I have a near compulsion to buy any copy I stumble across, including having managed to collect 5 copies of Roseanna, (two in English, 3 in Swedish) the first book in the series. I will make the claim that Roseanna is up there among the greatest novels in not just Swedish crime, but within the crime genre in general.

Sometimes it's not just about having the details, but noticing them as well.


Not installed


As yet I have no means by which to hang my framed photographs, artworks and posters, therefore they are currently resting on the floor - slouching against the wall like a row of disenchanted youths outside a petrol station. I quite like everything being low to the ground though - it is as if I can take everything in if I sit on the transparent chair (reflected in the mirror) in the centre of the room, and 'survey my territory'.

Furniture for flats














 


































So far in the epic adventure that is to be called 'furnishing my flat' I have sourced two pieces of furniture from Malmö's rather good second hand establishments, both very reasonably priced. I love to gloat/share my successes, so I have documented them in situ and plastered them all over the internet. Unfortunately not much else exists 'in situ' (I write this sitting on a cushion on the floor in the corner where the internet lives) I have no tables, no blinds or curtains, no ceiling lights. Yet it isn't bleak at all, having always lived in rooms with filled to the brim. It is nice to downsize and I hope it remains that way.

Literal flow

Set of open plan book shelves seen on small spaces - a tumblr with a serious case of indoor-outdoor flow, showcasing architecture and design that will make you want to vacuum, put things away, and wipe down table surfaces with a great feeling of inadequacy. Working in a library, I have a great affinity with shelving. Or at least, I feel that I ought to.
These shelves at common room - "a non-profit exhibition space that supports artistic experimentation and dialog in contemporary culture", and described as "bookshelves mounted between the wood studs create a bookstore and social bar on one side of the partition and a more private archive on the side of the artists space" are great because they are accessible from both sides - just like all good things (cloths racks, buffet tables, christmas trees), and provide incentive to collect volumes of books by which to fill out the space into a complete wall.

Sometimes there are so many inspiring things in our alternate reality known as the internet, it makes me want to erupt into a flurry of creativity and then destroy everything in the throes of self loathing. A bit heavy from just looking at a set of cleverly made shelves, perhaps. 

At the Hotel Peninsular


While in Barcelona we stayed at the Hotel Peninsular, a typical one-star hotel just off the main drag of Las Ramblas. It offered all the mod-cons of a classic one-star hotel - sparse rooms, thin walls, a cornflakes continental breakfast - but the interior was highly unique. The building was originally a convent of the Augustine Order, and the rooms were previously monks' cells. All open out into the rather fantastical interior courtyard, with hanging plants, tiled floors, and wrought iron balconies running around each level.
One afternoon, after a morning of wearying but fulfilling touristing, we sat in the empty courtyard drinking a couple of Barcelonan beers, soaking up the peacefulness and planning our next attack on the city.
Staying in a place like this is what I search for in every trip that I make - I want to stay somewhere so completely remarkable that it reiterates the fact I am in a different country, experiencing different things.
In the photo above I am  standing in a small alcove next door to our room, ready for my first day of exploring, Barcelona guidebook loaned out from the library (overdue) in my hand.

These photos are the first batch Kris has sorted through from his digital camera. I am still waiting for the pictures off the roll of film I took. I was rather restrained with camera usage, not wanting a lens to continuously be obstructing my impressions and views of places. I tell myself I didn't come all the way to a foreign city just to photograph it. Some things have to be experienced first hand.

Interiors (Sweden)



A few views of our new room, main feature our new multi-purpose Ikea book shelf/desk unit. Kris's old lamp, a classic 1970's design by Anders Pehrson for Ateljé Lyktan called 'Tube' has pride of place.

The room has two large windows with both bamboo rolling blinds and a lucky find of some perfect sized second hand curtains in a rather thick luxurious fabric. (I don't want to be awakened at 3am every morning during summer with glaring sunlight, when sunrise is early and streams through our eastward facing windows. However, during winter it has been a pleasant wake up call, when the sun doesn't rise often before 8am.)

In one corner Kris displays his his collection of guitars, he took an acoustic one from his parent's house upon which to teach, but no evidence of this has yet eventuated. Diagonally opposite is a bookshelf housing his vinyl collection, with maybe a dozen of my own slotted in at the end. Moving countries requires much downsizing and I have not started to rebuild what records I had except for somehow finding 4 Fleetwood Mac records, and miraculously, the self-titled debut of The Paul Butterfield Blues Band, which at the moment rests in front of all the others so I can glance over at it and not believe my luck.

Above the secretary which I adopted from the kitchen hang an embroidery Granny made for me, and one I made for her. It is nice to have a piece of furniture where I can put my knick-knacks and jewellery and such, and then fold the top up to keep secure all the daily detritus I deem important in spilling over.

It is strange looking critically at the room sometimes and realising how few possession I have accumulated, even after two years of living here. Yet I don't feel like I am lacking much (saying that, I would like to funnel some of the funds I currently spend of clothing into other endeavours: books, records, paintings and drawings, nice plates, jewellery.) When I think of my room in New Zealand, I can remember having so much stuff, but hardly any particular objects spring to mind.

Interiors (New Zealand)



Seeing where people live, how they display their possessions and what to them makes a livable and harmonious environment are a never-ceasing area of interest. I think my extended family have always had impeccable interiors, successfully reflecting their personalities and aesthetics.

Granny's flat, complete with many amazing artworks installed Salon-style. There was nearly no free wall space, every available square inch utilized for displaying her collection.  Staying here for one week while in NZ made me fully appreciate framing works/pictures, and I have been scouring second-hand shops in Malmö hunting down suitable frames with which to house my few prints and drawings, mainly done by myself.

Harriet and Chris' living room at their flat in Onehunga. A great mix of leather, lacquer and vinyl. Wooden floors, wooden walls, open brick fireplace. The best thing about houses in NZ is the abundance of wood, something sorely missing in our Swedish apartment. Swedish apartments have lots of things going for them - double glazed windows, central heating, ornately plastered ceilings - but linoleum floors and concrete walls are not the best sometimes.

Both these interiors made an impression on me, knowing as I did, that after my holiday in NZ we would be moving rooms to the largest on the in flat, complete with walk-in wardrobe and an opportunity to arrange and rearrange my still rather meagre but slowly growing collection of possessions presented itself.

Taking the secret passageway to the Conservatory



Pictures of a house up for sale in Jönköping. Feels rather reminiscent of the Bate's family home in Psycho, with the taxidermied birds, wooden paneling on the upper landing and a mysterious hidden door.

Edward Hopper's The House by The Railroad (1925) was inspiration for the appearance of the Bates' Mansion. The original set consisting of the house and the Bates Motel, still exists on the Universal Studio's back lot.