FOLKLORIC ~ Magic Carpet Ride

painting by Apollinari Mikhailovich Vasnetsov

There are few things in life which we love in our youth and feel the same affection for years later.  When we downsized one of the items we could not quite bear to part with was a collection of what we called our 'magic carpets'.


Source: From Moon to Moon



These vintage carpets (and cushions and hangings)  had been lovingly sourced from charity and antique shops, given to us by family and bought in markets on trips to Iran.

For over a decade we had lived in houses which needed them. They had lain on long wood corridors and been lain upon by a series of cats, some past and some present who had also graced our homes.



Our favourite Bohemian cat

One rug in particular was known to us for even longer, going back some 25 years. It had been a covering in the bed of a giant Hound named Tennyson who had gnawed on it and left little holes in the fine embroidered wool.



All of our cats have dreamed of flying on the Magic Carpets

 

The new cottage was small, humble,  and different. No long corridors, no dark wood polished floors or 300 year old Elm floorboards needing adornment. We considered for sometime over the future of these carpets. Some were passed on.  It was hard to part with them, each held many memories.

Meanwhile we were struggling to decorate a small garden room. 'Garden' seemed to equate to soft romantic colours, as in the shabby chic signature style of Rachel Ashwell. Lots of white, pale pink, blue, lilac and of course green. We tried to get the room together around some Wedgewood majolica leaf plates we have although they were at least two shades darker than pale.



Antique Wedgewood Majolica

 Bar them, pretty though it was, the 'shabby chic' look for us would require all new items. And what were we to do with our old 'dark decor' things that had kept our company through our youth?

And then as so often happens, an old photograph of something we loved from the past inspired us. Rudolf the most perfect of Bohemians with the kelims he loved so much. (More about him and his carpets in a later post).



 Source: House and Garden magazine, 1992, a few months before Nureyev died.
With some of his beloved carpets at his home on Li Galli, off the Amalfi coast. 

 

And once we saw it, we knew. The garden room,  with the tiled floor, studio pottery, oak table, peacock chair and blissful light, was in fact the perfect place for the rest of our old carpets. And, as our conservatory is nothing ancient or grand the carpets would give a much needed 'lived in' air to the modern space.

 

The way in which the Bloomsbury Set layered colours, textiles, paintings, pottery and sculpture has long inspired us. I had been trying to force a pretty ladylike pale and interesting scheme upon our garden room - and it just is not who we are.

Instead - viola! We can have an orange and blue garden room which picks up the colour of these wonderful magic carpets, with the green Wedgewood as accent. This room overlooks a 150 year old red brick bakehouse with terracotta roof tiles and the colours outside complement inside. If summer ever arrives we plan to plant the garden view full of  jewel coloured flowers. 




Tennyson's blanket on the carved oak bench in the conservatory,
with an Edwardian carpet underneath.

Never too many cushions.

Mrs Black loves her old carpets.

Garden rooms do not have to be pastel! Wouldn't this be a wonderful stimulating place ?



Source: www.emel.com

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

She Walks In Beauty Like The Night

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

~ Lord Byron

The vestiges of Spring are all around us and yet we remain enthralled to a chill in the air and frost on the windows in the mornings. Buds are on the trees and shrubs, but winter yet clings to us. The snow drops carpet the floor of the woods like fairy confetti, strewn in a dance. Pale yellow primroses brave the chill and show their pretty heads in case a queen bumblebee is in need of refreshment after the long winter slumber. And a few bees, and even a butterfly have been on the wing already.

Before Winter slips away completely, ever deeper into the woods, we are paying tribute to The Midnight Hour, which although quite nice in Summer, comes into it's own with a cloudy, thundery sky or a blanket of frost and snow.

L'heure bleue or The Violet Hour has two chances each day, at open and close, to enchant us, and it does. Midnight comes but once so it needs to be spectacular to compete with those Twilights, and the setting and rising sun. Midnight succeeds we think.

Midnight has a heavy scent about it, in Winter the smell of the rain and the forests. In summer heavy with the honeysuckle, the jasmine and the night flowering stock. This scent does evoke it, and although Midnight isn't poison the name and the bottle are great. 

It's the wrong time of the year to think about the spooky connotations of this hour. We will leave that until October. Wolves are frightening because they are wild, something in them recalls another life, long ago in us. We wish to run with them. More than any other time they belong to Midnight. So we will leave them there and go curl up with a cosy blanket and sleep until the day greets us. Unless of course we feel like a spot of dancing and then we have several versions of that Wilson Pickett classic, 'In The Midnight Hour' to listen to!

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x19ky3_midnight-hour-bruce-springsteen-wil_music