Historically, I have not loved super-geometric patterns. Having come of age in the 90's, anything too sharp-edged or boxy is tainted, to me, with the aura of the Hated Eighties. I think, though, that I am beginning to soften my absolutist stance on this controversial issue. Over the past week I've been poring over photos of textile and interior design from the 1950's (spending a lot of quality time over at this blog), and getting progressively more excited about them. There is at least one upcoming Family Trunk pattern which I think would benefit from a dose of mid-century modernity, and I'm now eyeing mosaic stitch patterns in a whole new light. Done in a mixture of easter-y and organic colors, they radiate minimalist, cocktail-hour charm without any overwhelming glitziness or or plasticky quality. Case in point:
This is the very beginning of my adaptation of Kate Gagnon's Ode to Eames socks, and they're providing me with a nice little laboratory in which to think about pleasing applications of mosaic stitch patterns. Vic Morine, my grandfather and the husband of Marjorie Atwell, was definitely a businessman in the 1950's cocktail mode (I still remember his mirrored bar and impressive array of glassware), and I'm thinking that something in the realm of a light-weight mosaic-stitch shirt or sweater would be very in keeping with his milieu.
Even when the 50's were not at direct issue, this weekend was all about geometry for me. We got some scrumptious herbs at the local nursery, and set up a delightfully mod little window-garden with these square, matte-black pots:
We have now made dishes with the chives and sage, and as today and tomorrow are supposed to be over 90 degrees, cocktails with the mint can't be far behind. For people living as citified an existence as David and I, this is pretty exciting. I can't wait to see the little plants start growing, and having a bit of living green around the place during the cold winter months is a certain pick-me-up.