splish splash

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We are still on holiday and have just come back from a few blissed out days in Tranquility, NJ with our wonderful friends the Kissanes, family and friends. I've taken many photos - and little films with my new gifted Samsung camcorder - but it's the time, always the time. I feel bad I haven't posted more but I will - I hope you understand.

This is all Oliver, our delightful cousin. Our cousin Adam and his wife's Anne's son (the daughter, Aili, gets her own post). I'm so glad they're cool about posting shots of their kids. These were all taken within a few minutes when they were here for my mom's birthday. He was really into doing big splash shots for me (over and over: this guy just did not tire out), and shortly after that, we evolved the same of 'Ollie Ball' which basically consists of him scrunching up into a ball in the pool, with the adults tossing him around. I couldn't shoot it of course because I was taking part, and too busy convulsed with laughter.

Lately it's occurred to me that life comes down to this: men and boys just want to feel free. And the smartest women - mothers, girlfriends, wives - are the ones who let them. There was more to my philosophy than that, but it's time to do a little splish splashing myself. Hope you're having a lovely summery (or, wintery) time wherever you are.



What does this have to do with streetstyle? Not much, except I do love Oliver's outfit. Can't you just see it with big bangles, cool shoes, the palm trees made out of sequins? So Ashish.

my brother's big fat greek John Lennon sandals

Was just having breakfast on the deck, watching the water, when my mom came out and noticed that some of the split rail fence had been replaced. 'You wouldn't believe how the wood wears down here', she said. 'They've already replaced this deck once already.' That's what I love about it, I said. The way it gets old and worn. It's beautiful. 'Just like us,' she said, 'getting old and weathered and worn.'

I've been shooting my feet ever since I first picked up a camera. It's an ongoing, self indulgent, self portrait series. In this shot, for example, the scrapes on my knuckles are from Scarlett, my niece, kind of dragging me under in the deep end (it's a good 25 feet: I have no idea how the scrapes happened on the top). I've since lost more gold nail varnish.

My brother kept telling us - or trying to tell us - about how he bought these handmade leather sandals on tour recently, in Greece, and they're the SAME SANDALS JOHN LENNON WORE. Not exactly the same ones.. he was telling us about this amazing man he met, MELISSINO, a poet and artist and sandal maker, who made and still makes sandals to order for everyone from Jackie Kennedy to the Prince of Wales. These are the style John Lennon loved.

It seemed every time my brother tried to tell us about his sandals, something happened - a child ran in, or my mom said something.. I know he wanted to say more. I love the line from To Kill a Mockingbird, when Atticus Finch told Scout about only being able to know a man when you try walking in his shoes. Just before my brother jumped in the car to bring Scarlett to day camp, I tried imagining walking in his.

i was told there'd be cake

Last night I went down to the pool, in twilight. No: past twilight. I walked down the wooden path, passing the huge hydrangeas in various colours, like ladies in gowns at Versailles. The moon was a giant golden crescent, positioned exactly centre above the pool, which was empty. I dove into water warmer than the languid air.

These images, these sacred memories, are impossible to capture, let alone describe. I can't post about fashion, apart to say that of the assortment of relatives gathered for my mom's birthday extravaganza week, the majority wore shades of aqua and blue. My cousin Adam's wife Anne helped the children make bracelets, to give as gifts.

There was cake.