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Manufactured mist reveals glimpses of The Glass House

I am so awfully glad that out of the 300 or so messages that dropped into my email last week, I opened one from the Bau-Xi Gallery, with news of an exhibit of photographs taken by Richard Barnes of Philip Johnson’s renowned Glass House.

What a fascinating path it took me down.

Here’s the short version. And in case you think this is some kind of hoity-toity insider art piece, it’s not. I’m learning a lot of this for the first time, and I’d never hear of Fujiko Nakaya, the Japanese artist mentioned below.

The Glass House is seen as a monument to modernist design, and marks the first application of the international style to residential architecture (it was designed between 1945 and 1948). As you can guess, there’s been lots of chatter over the decades about what a transparent house says-about the separation of humans from nature and each other, about privacy, about barriers, and about the interaction between people and their interior environment.

Barnes was commissioned to photograph this iconic (an over-used word that’s apt here) in 2014, in conjunction with Japanese artist Fujiko Nakaya creating a site-specific project to mark the house’s 65 anniversary.

Nakaya’s medium? Fog. Yes fog. Fresh water pumped at high pressure through 600 nozzles produced a computer controlled “hydraulic” mist that, according to Nakaya, responded “constantly to its own surroundings, revealing and concealing the features of the environment,” and which made “visible things become invisible and invisible things—like wind — become visible”.

What makes these veiled landscapes even more compelling is the thought that Barnes is capturing fixed (and exquisite) moments of a process that is most certainly changing every few seconds.

Take a look at Barnes’ photos above, and check out my POST Media column on this. Tell me below if you too are glad I opened that email.

Images © Richard Barnes, courtesy of Bau-Xi Gallery.

Established in 1965, Bau-Xi Gallery represents both Canadian and international artists in three art galleries in Toronto and Vancouver.

A hammer, a home, and a history

Greg Penn is one of the most interesting people I’ve encountered in two decades covering home décor and design. Less than two years ago, the 36-year-old took possession of a Georgian mansion-originally built for a Naval officer-in Plymouth, England more than 200 years ago.

It’s a grand story, for lots of reasons, which I wrote about. But the best part may be that it’s still pretty much in its early chapters with Penn. Follow the visual narrative @manwithahammer to watch this handsome house come back to life. See below for pics of what Penn (self-taught in DIY and design) has done so far, and tell me if you agree he has a good eye and a deft hand.

Why a beautiful scarf counts as self-care

Sometimes taking care of yourself means eating healthy foods, getting enough rest, and exercising regularly. Sometimes it means taking time out to relax, meditate or simply sip a cup of tea in silence. Sometimes it means switching off social media noise, writing your thoughts in a journal, or playing hooky for the afternoon.

But I also believe sometimes it means treating yourself to something lovely, something extravagant, something that is absolutely not essential. For me, the delicious silk scarves I show below, from the Joel Oppenheimer Gallery in Chicago, fit the bill.

At least, that’s how I plan to justify gifting myself something from this inaugural scarf collection called Drawn from Nature, based on renowned works by natural history artists John James Audubon and Dr. Robert John Thornton, whose finely-detailed works depict ornithological and botanical subjects.

Made in the U. S. A. from 100 per cent silk twill, these 36-inch square double-sided scarves are finished with hand-rolled and hand-sewn hems  ($320 USD). As for the colours, just look for yourself.

So back me up here, please; these scarves definitely qualify as self-care, no? After all, doesn’t it just make you feel good to think about draping one around your neck? Could I possibly sneak one by as a (mental) health business expense in my 2020 tax return? A styling prop? I could make a case for either.

Have you ever given your well-deserving self something wonderful but wildly unnecessary? Feel free to spill in the comments.