The Lights of Old Santa Fe

Years ago, I saw a documentary, 901: After 45 Years of Working. This documentary follows the archiving of the Eames studio, as its contents were packed for shipping to the Smithsonian, after Ray's death. It’s incredible, of course. A lifetime of collecting is carefully organized in flat files and boxes. There are flat files filled with thimbles, another drawer of round shells, another with buttons, pieces of kimono fabric, spoons, pebbles, Victorian cards, and anything else you might consider collecting. After an hour of drawers, drawers and more drawers, and boxes of stuff, I found myself getting edgy. Yes, it’s incredible, but stop the archiving, get a Hefty bag.

I bought the new Alexander Girard book by Todd Oldham and Kiera Coffee. I expected a nice comprehensive publication of Girard’s work, not another catalogue of cute Girard blocks and merchandise. And it is exactly that: smart, comprehensive, beautiful, and well printed. The book is enormous. I felt sorry for the UPS dude. It’s almost as big as the coffee table, is 672 pages, and weighs 15 pounds. It is comprehensive and spectacular.

Girard’s house in Santa Fe is overwhelming. Here, more is not enough. The colors and textures are playful and exuberant. There isn’t a detail overlooked. It gave me permission to paint a mural in the hall, or put out every Mexican and Japanese folk art item I own. Like the Eames studio, there is a lot of stuff. And when there isn’t an object, he paints the surface to invoke a landscape. I was especially interested in the mural that looks exactly like It’s a Small World. Was it zeitgeist? Did Mary Blair visit and copy him? Did he copy from Mary Blair’s drawings? Who cares? It’s extraordinary.

Images from Alexander Girard, by Todd Oldham and Keira Coffee, and the Library of Congress

From Mexico With Love

I’m one of the few people in the world that doesn’t like chocolate. I’m fine with a bite here and there, but chocolate cake just makes me sick. I don’t have any issue with others who enjoy chocolate, more power to you. It just doesn’t agree with me. I do, however, love the Mexican molinillo. In the early eighteenth century Spaniard colonists in Mexico invented this device to stir chocolate.  Before the invention of the molinillo, chocolate was made frothy by pouring it from one cup to another.  The molinillo froths the chocolate with a twisting action. The loose sections add air to the mix.

I don’t really care about that. I have no plans to froth chocolate any time soon. I like the molinillo because it is a beautiful sculpture. It’s an Eames chess set stool on crack, the pediments of It’s a Small World. They aren’t particularly costly, and I would suggest buying them as gifts and telling the recipient it’s a valuable piece of folk art.

The Color of Success

Mohawk Via, The Big Handbook

I was reading a post recently about a Mohawk project we at AdamsMorioka designed. “I love the pop sensibility,” read one of the comments, and the others followed suit. I imagine this is the mark of self-delusion, but I didn’t design the piece with that in mind. I just used colors I like. Backtracking, I found the page in my color notebook that I made when I was working on the project. As it turns out, I was guilty. There is a little note, “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.” So I appropriated the color palette from the 1967 film. Coincidentally, Mary Blair, who designed It’s a Small World, was the color consultant in the credits. How often do movies have color consultants? The color combinations make the palettes unique: salmon and ochre, baby blue and burnt orange, magenta and avocado. And as a bonus, Robert Morse, who is the diamond of the Mad Men cast, is the leading man in a similar setting in the film. I am considering demanding that people take shoes off when they enter my office.

Robert Morse (Right), Mad Men

Sean Adams color notebook

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Mary Blair color

How to Suceed in Business Without Really Trying, Mary Blair color