Brunettes…

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© Karly Larson

It was only cool to have blond hair and be a surfer chick [in Sydney]. I could learn how to surf, but I still looked Italian. It took me a long time to realize that was a good thing. – Natalie Imbruglia

As a blond, I’ve always been fascinated by the sensuality and sultriness of the brunette stereotype. The ponytail shown above has a luxurious, almost sateen quality to it.

The image below of my brunette daughter and another blond model reminds me of the Grimm’s fairy tale of Snow White and Rose Red.

© Scott Taylor

Models – Lauren DiMarco and Taryn Christy

Sea and Sky…

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© Joan Currie

Don’t grow up too quickly, lest you forget how much you love the beach. – Michelle Held

I was captivated by the kiteboarders at Big Basin State Park – the speed, the colors, the raw energy! The closest I have come to this excitement is using a trapeze and spinnaker on an International 14 sailboat and waterskiing with a Delta Wing kite.

© Joan Currie

Tassels…

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© Joan Currie

Tassel (noun)

A tuft of loosely hanging threads or cords, bound at one end and hanging free at the other, used as an ornament on curtains or clothing.

The Laura Ashley Home Decorating books taught me how to make draperies. Using the company’s lovely cotton fabric, I sewed traditional lined curtains with valances and tie-backs, and softer Festoon blinds for my Boston home. The decor is much the same in my West Coast home, but my fabric choices now include brocade, silk, and velvet for a more luxurious look. In addition, tassels have replaced simple cotton tie-backs, and serve as inspirations for other decorative elements such as throws, pillows, and wall art.

Tutu and Tulle…

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© Joan Currie

Tutu (noun)
A short projecting skirt worn by a ballerina.

Tulle (noun)
A fine, often starched net of silk, rayon, or nylon, especially used for veils, tutus or gowns.

My parents took me to my first ballet – the National Ballet of Canada’s production of Swan Lake at the O’Keefe Center in Toronto. My love affair with the tutu began on that evening. I was drawn to the midnight black tutu of Odile more than the white tutus of Princess Odette and the corps de ballet –  Tchaikovsky’s powerful musical score may have influenced my preference.

The ballet classes of my youth were based on the Royal Academy of Dance’s rigorous curriculum and strict dress code – tutus were not worn in class. However, my daughters’ early ballet classes were quite whimsical in nature and, until the older girls started taking lessons at the Boston Ballet School, they were able to dance in pink, blue, and even purple tutus – some embellished with lines or starbursts of sequins in the many layers of tulle.

Homeward Bound…

© Joan Currie

Well, I’m going home, back to the place where I belong…

Chris Daughtry (song)

Just before sunset, north of Pyramid Lake on Interstate 5, I came upon a wildfire that had been burning for nearly four hours.

The ash in the air made for a beautiful sunset.

Photos by Joan Currie

Road Trip…

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© Joan Currie

On the road again,
Just can’t wait to get on the road again…
Willie Nelson (song)

Today I set out for Southern California from San Francisco armed with maps, compilation CDs (Howlin’ Wolf  – Built for Comfort, Stevie Ray Vaughan – The Sky is Crying, and Johnny Cash – Walk the Line), and a cooler packed with fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and lemonade.

The photograph of the biomorphic undulations near Bakersfield is reminiscent of Gottardo Piazzoni and Arthur Mathews’ landscape paintings. The other images were shot at Pyramid Lake where I would have liked to water-ski!

Bittersweet: Love Letters…

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© Marc Virata

How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead… Patty Griffin

Every now and then when I find myself alone on a Sunday afternoon I settle into my favorite wingback chair and place a jewel-encrusted box in my lap. In a ritualistic fashion, I reach inside and withdraw a bundle of letters held fast by a pale pink satin ribbon, untie it carefully and gently press open the pages of the first read.

Some of the letters are penned on elegant gold-edged stationary while others are on thin blue airmail sheets. They are manifestations of a sweet, naïve young love. Within the pages are poems of shameless yearning, devotion and imaginings of a world where all things seemed possible.

My fingers trace the tender words whose power has not paled over the years on reading after reading, rather they pull at my heartstrings more now than on first consideration. I truly appreciate the sentiments, knowing how rare and lovely a feeling it is to feel valued, prized – even worshipped.

I wonder how different my life today would have been if the spell of a particular suitor had not been broken. But broken it was and it is a pity that the lovely words memorialized here had been confined to these pages alone.

© Joan Currie – My Love Letters

Model – Lauren DiMarco

Handmade Gifts…

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© Joan Currie - Necklace by Lauren Currie

The only gift is a portion of thyself. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Knowing that I appreciate handcrafted gifts, my daughters love to make me jewelry and ceramics for special occasions. The very first offering from my eldest was a necklace fashioned from plaster of Paris cylinders painted red, blue and yellow and strung on a red shoelace. The necklace still graces my bureau and every time I look at it, I am transported back to that tender time.

Over the years, all my daughters have created unique presents for me. The jewelry has evolved in both materials and design from simple single strand beaded bracelets and necklaces to more complex ones with silver wraps and Murano beads or pearls and organza ribbons.

The first ceramic and pottery gifts were primitive tangerine pots and sky blue vases, but they, too, became more interesting featuring multiple colors, textures and new patterns. I continue to wear and use their gifts because they are beautiful, but also to show how much I value them and honor the artistic effort that went into their creation.

I am particularly delighted when the creations serve as touchstones for my daughters’ childhood memories. We have wonderful conversations about how their interests and preferences have stayed the same or changed over the years. They are astonished when they find clues in their early art that inform who they are today.

© Joan Currie - Plate by Caren Currie