I read a quote from the sculptor Isamu Noguchi the other day that read: “When an artist stops being a child, they stop being an artist.” And that stayed with me. Because here’s the thing: that child you used to be? The one you were so eager to leave behind in pursuit of adulthood? Of responsibility? Of accomplishment? Don’t be afraid to go back to them. Look with their eyes. Wonder with their heart. Seek answers and understanding with their curiosity. That child, in a beautifully ironic sense, actually knew more about living, truly living, than the years since have taught many of us. Hold onto them. Keep them close. And when you’re in doubt, I hope you can quiet the noise and listen to what they have to say.
There’s a Japanese form of pottery called Kintsugi — which translates to “golden joinery.” And the concept is quite simple: it’s the art of repairing broken pottery by mending the fractures with lacquer dusted in gold. Rather than disguising the imperfections, it wears them proudly, a golden traceable line of history, of character, of a life lived.
What if we did the same? What if our “imperfections” aren’t something to hide away from the world as we’ve been told to do but rather something to be celebrated? To be highlighted? To be dusted in gold and admired?
In the spirit of flipping perspectives, I wanted to jot down a few affirmations for the month of August. A few mental notes, if you will, that I'd like to keep front of mind:
Tell people how I feel about them in the moment. Stop waiting for the right time to come along.
Don't be afraid to set higher standards for who gets access to me, my energy and my time.
Curate little moments whenever possible. Feel gratitude in them.
See the value in fighting for what's right, not what seems easiest.
State less "If onlys..." and ask more "What ifs...?" There's a big difference between the two. The former sees only the obstacle. The latter sees only the possibility.
Do you have any affirmations for the month you'd like to share?
And on an unrelated housekeeping note: I've gotten a few questions as to why I will no longer be posting my inspiration photos and movie recommendations on Instagram Stories. The short answer is: an IG employee brought to my attention that these two series *may* violate intellectual property copyright regulations subsequently leading Instagram to shadow ban my account. A shadow ban is essentially a de-ranking of your account — meaning you no longer show up in organic search results (even if someone types in your entire username) and you no longer show up in hashtag, audio or Explore page results. Essentially, it makes it REALLY hard for anyone to find your account and is akin to the kiss of death for any content creator.
Henceforth, I will only share content I outright own the copyrights to — meaning only my photos and my videos.
I'll caveat all this to say, this employee couldn't definitively pinpoint the source of my shadow ban as this was outside their purview, but I'm grateful to them for giving me something actionable to try, in what has felt like a very dead end pursuit.
Plot twist: You've just spotted a little empty storefront in Montepulciano with a "Vendesi" sign in its window — "For sale?" you whisper under your breath as you saunter down the quiet pathway for a closer look. Perhaps it was an antique shop before? Or maybe that faint cheese smell is remnant of a former latteria? Whatever the case may be, it's dusty bones look good to you — its countertop you can already see yourself leaning over, deep in a book, it's shelves you've already mentally filled with books older than you, some in English, some in Italian, some in tongues you've yet to identify.
You peer in closer through the slats of shuttered windows, drinking in all the ways you'd fill the space with love, with curiosity, with several floppy corgis at your feet. You can already hear the chime of the bell atop the doorway, signifying a customer has come to visit in search of pages to get lost in. You picture yourself happily obliging, rifling through the spines of books like fine wines, until you land on just the right varietal for them (full-bodied, not too sweet, per favore!) and you smile as you begin packaging up their book. Briefly glancing out the very window your current self is now standing at, there's a full circle moment there that hasn't even happened yet. A parallel pathway up for grabs, and both versions of you are now, for a painfully, fleeting second, aware of the other. In disbelief, you both open your mouths to say, "How did — "
Suddenly, overhead, church bells chime from the piazza down the way. You're snapped back to reality, the words on your lips run dry and the "Vendesi" sign stares blankly back at you. You jot down Giuseppe’s number listed at the bottom and sigh — not of discontentment mind you, but more so of dreamy optimism.
As you walk off to dinner, the faint smell of dust and cheese wafting behind you from that little empty shop down that narrow alleyway, you can't help but wonder out loud to the medieval walls, "What if...what if...?"
There’s a post by Anastasia Pagonas that has been making the rounds the past few days (many of you sent it directly to me) and I think it warrants a lot of good questions, reflections and even self-culpability when it comes to how and what we share on social media, namely Instagram. It's no secret around here that I've had my fair share of complaints about the behemoth owned by Facebook, er Meta, and I realize you likely don't follow me to hear my daily frustrations with it. But I believe, whether you make a living off this app like I do or not is actually besides the larger point here, and it's a contention point I feel quite passionate about — like it or not, apps like Instagram control more of our lives than we'd like to admit.
In an age where speed, immediacy and ease of consumption is often prioritized above all else usually in the pursuit of going viral, what does that leave us with at the end of the day? How does that move us forward? I can’t help but picture a conveyer belt as the best analogy here — an automated factory line of the same songs, the same video concepts, the same ideas rolling past us at a frantic pace. Seven to eight second micro doses of content to funnel you to an “add to cart” button or until you simply scroll to the next, hook-able, shiny thing. These companies will tell you it’s because we’re time poor and we need them to think for us. But I have to wonder if they’re the source of our time bankruptcy and perhaps subsequently, the source of our inability to think for ourselves.
I say all this as someone who loves exploring videography. And cinema. And storytelling in all forms. But I also love photography. And the power of what a single image can convey. And the importance of sitting with it, to reflect, to feel, to understand. I’m of the belief the two don’t need to be at odds with each other, and yet, here we are: for many of us who rely on this app for our livelihoods, businesses or simply just to connect with friends, family and kindred spirits, we have to choose. It’s a classic conform or get left behind.
I’m a slow person by nature — I like taking my time to observe, to learn and to process. To be still with something is innate to who I am. And while I may run and sprint at times to keep up, mainly due to unavoidable, capitalistic necessity — I have to wonder out loud (even if no one is reading this far into the post) “at what cost?"
At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.
‘Courage!’ cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. ‘Courage and love.’
She did not answer. From her feet the ground sloped sharply into view, and violets ran down in rivulets and streams and cataracts, irrigating the hillside with blue, eddying round the tree stems, collecting into pools in the hollows, covering the grass with spots of azure foam. But never again were they in such profusion; this terrace was the well-head, the primal source whence beauty gushed out to water the earth.
Standing at its brink, like a swimmer who prepares, was the good man. But he was not the good man that she had expected, and he was alone.
George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her… ~ E.M. Forster, A Room With a View
My unsolicited advice? Retreat when you need to. Turn away from the world for just a moment — I promise you, it will be there when you return — and revisit what makes you feel alive. Read stories that delight you. Draw something that's tugging at you. Sleep, not out necessity, but simply to dream. Sing, even if you can't. Dance, even if you don't know the steps. We share and document so much with the world these days, that I think we've lost sight of the pleasure of creating something that's never witnessed by another living soul. By no means do I think I'm good (or even adequate) at this, but I'm certainly trying. Each and every day.
And in the spirit of celebrating quiet moments, here are a few of mine from my recent stay at The Maker Hotel, up in Hudson, New York. If you're a fellow New Yorker (or find yourself in upstate New York anytime soon), I highly recommend looking into their Winter Escape packages — ideal for these long, cozy days of hibernation.
Yesterday we walked through a field of French lavender, just before a summer rainstorm. And I have to say, I don’t think I’ve encountered such an intoxicating scent before — heady and sweet, yet earthy and musky. An alchemy of seasonal magic coming together to do what nature does best — surprise and delight. Oh, how I wish I could bottle it somehow. A souvenir of a summer day that I could revisit in the cold of winter. For now, the lavender at my bedside will have to do.
In case you're yearning for the south of France right now (or in this case, East Marion out on Long Island!), I hope today's playlist transports you for a moment or two.
Have you ever wanted to walk through a Gilded Age dream? I know I have, the moment I first "met" Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan out in Fitzgerald's glittering East and West Egg — fictional towns on the very real and very prestigious North Shore of Long Island. Once nicknamed the Gold Coast, the area was a haven for captains of industry (primarily steel and transportation) and their lavish mansions and lifestyles. Over 500 estates in total peppered the coastline by the early 20th century, among them were the homes of Vanderbilts, Astors, Whitneys — names that perhaps Fitzgerald pictured Gatsby entertaining until the early hours of the morning, searching for Daisy's eyes around the room every chance he got.Over the years, many of these Gold Coast Mansions were sold off, demolished or burnt down, but a small handful still remain — Old Westbury Gardens chief among them — and as we walked around the estate the other day, I couldn't shake the feeling of a party long ago ringing through the air still. Music waltzing along on a summer evening breeze. The clinking of champagne glasses and mid-Atlantic accents intertwined in conversation. The breathless excitement of lovers running just out of sight from the dance floor to steal a forbidden kiss.
While I may have stood there on a quiet, summer afternoon, seemingly exploring what is now a public garden and museum, my imagination joined an evening I'd only read about — where Daisy's perfume still lingered and the green light at the end of the dock still flashed. A party that even time couldn't disband — an immortal Gilded Age dream.
If you find yourself in the New York area this summer itching for a day trip, I can't recommend visiting Old Westbury Gardens enough. It's a true step back in time.
Boston. A town of quaint cobblestone streets, remnants of colonial America's beginnings at every corner, an air of academia and knowledge practically oozing from every historical plaque you pass. Home to Harvard, Red Sox fans aplenty and some of the country's earliest roots in philosophical writings and world class art, there's no denying, there's plenty to keep you busy when in town. So why haven't I ventured here more often, given it's short train ride from New York City? Honestly, when we were in town a few weeks ago, I couldn't stop asking myself this question. And I also couldn't stop wondering how beautiful the city must be in different seasons, chief among them fall!
In case you're like me and you're looking to rectify your absence from Boston soon, I've put together a concise weekend guide for you — 48 hours in a city that boasts world class culture and fun, an enviable food scene and enough historical intrigue to keep you keen for your next visit. Ready? Let's go!
First things, first, where to stay: The Newbury Boston — a property that’s played a pivotal role in Boston’s hospitality scene since 1927 when it first opened as the Ritz-Carlton and later as The Taj. You all know how much I love spaces with rich history and The Newbury certainly doesn’t disappoint in that department. (Case in point: Former guests include Amelia Earhart, the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, the Kennedy family and even Shirley Temple for a few weeks.) Timelessly modern — it’s old world luxury for the contemporary traveler, with art in spades, impeccable fine dining and such close proximity to the Boston Public Garden, you’d swear by the view from your room window you were sitting atop a treehouse next to the pond. Their whole staff was so warm and welcoming and truly made us feel like we were coming home each night. I can't wait to return!
Late afternoon wandering around the Boston Public Garden (perhaps hop on one of the famed Swan Boats!)
Walk over to Beacon Hill to admire the Federal-style and Victorian brick homes (be sure to check out Acorn Street!) and swing by Tatte for a late pick-me-up latte
Dinner and drinks at Contessa, The Newbury's new rooftop terrace restaurant
Day 2:
Room service at The Newbury to enjoy sunrise over the Boston Public Garden
Isabella smoked cigarettes, and the newspaper ran stories claiming she had taken zoo lions for a stroll in the park. A dahlia bears her name, and so does a mountain peak in Washington. She once shocked all of Boston Society by showing up to the Boston Symphony Orchestra bearing a headband that declared, "Oh you Red Sox." She invited the Harvard Football team to her home after they beat Yale. She hosted a boxing match at her home and, while the men fought, she danced. She had two large diamonds attached to wires and wore them bouncing in her hair. At the opening of her museum, she served champagne and donuts. The woman courted the world, and the world courted the woman.
The above paragraph is an excerpt from a Vice article I read while walking around the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum when we were in Boston last week. Admittedly, I devoured the Netflix series This Is a Robbery: The World's Biggest Art Heist, which I found incredibly fascinating. The fact that 13 masterpieces, collectively valued at $500 million, are still missing to this day and their empty frames sit on display — a relic, I would come to find, is thanks to Ms. Gardner's will, absolutely blows my mind. But what the documentary fails to dive into is the woman behind this almost mystical shrine to art and curiosities from around the world. Walking around the museum, I thought a lot about the heist, but I found my mind wandering to Isabella more often. Who was she? What was she like? What motivated her? What inspired her? Why did she select that piece of art to sit alongside that piece of art? Was she trying to convey a message? Or perhaps a wink?
You could argue, Ms. Gardner, an art collector and philanthropist among the Boston elite at the end of the 19th and early 20th century, was ahead of her time. A Boston reporter of her day described her as follows: “Isabella Stewart Gardner is one of the seven wonders of Boston. There is nobody like her in any city in this country. She is a millionaire Bohemienne. She is the leader of the smart set, but she often leads where none dare follow… She imitates nobody; everything she does is novel and original.”
A true enigma. One who either charmed, challenged or confused everyone she met. Sometimes all three at once — and I can't seem to stop researching her these days. Have you visited her museum in Boston? If so, did you find yourself wondering about Isabella as you explored each room?
In case you're curious like me, I've recently ordered a few books that follow her life and her life's work at the museum:
Oh, the stories she must have told! The adventures she must have had! What I wouldn't give to trade secrets with her, just for a day. To stroll around the museum with her would be such a dream, don't you think?
Years ago, when I first saw the Wes Anderson film Darjeeling Limited, I became enamored with the idea of beautiful luggage that tells a story. If you remember at the beginning of that movie, Adrien Brody's character chases down a train in India that's just left the station, with several of his vintage monogrammed Louis Vuitton suitcases in tow. In true Wes Anderson fashion, there's a delightfully melancholy song from the 70s playing (Kinks' 'This Time Tomorrow'), as Brody narrowly catches the train, his bags a chic pile of finely crafted, well-traveled leather beside him. The luggage isn't necessarily pivotal to the film by any means, but it makes comical appearances throughout as each character lugs their own set from stop to stop, a metaphor perhaps for their individual emotional baggage. But make no mistake, it's the most beautiful emotional baggage I've ever seen.
Since then, I've dreamed about owning my very own set of heirloom-quality luggage, particularly a set by Steamline Luggage, a brand whose old world approach to modern travel needs just speaks directly to my heart. I can't tell you how many times I've admired older women at the airport or the train station, with their leather suitcases, perhaps a hat box or two and a beautiful scarf adorned in just the right spot. Sophisticated yet effortless, as if they somehow breezed in ready for departure, while the rest of us huffed and puffed. To me, Steamline embodies this bygone era of glamorous travel.
Naturally, when their team reached out to me about photographing their new linen Editor collection that launched yesterday, I had to read their email twice. Followed by an excited Google search for long train trips I could take to christen my new bags. Oh, the places I'll take these beauties — the years of adventures we have ahead! Of course, I can only hope I don't have to run after the train like my friend, Adrien. But if I do, I know exactly what song I'll be humming in my head, as I pray the kitten heels on my feet keep up.
Until then, staying local and checking in at one of my favorite New York hotels like The Plaza, certainly doesn't disappoint either.
The scene: Nickie Ferrante (Cary Grant) and Terry McKay (Deborah Kerr) sneak away out of sight from other passengers as their cruise ship prepares to dock in Manhattan. After a whirlwind secret romance, they are now facing the reality their trip must come to an end and they must face their respective realities apart from each other. Terry has prepared a letter for Nickie. Nickie begins to read from it.
Nickie: You have a date my beloved — July the first at 5 o'clock. But you don't say where?
Terry: Well, you name the place and I'll obey.
Nickie: I don't know, I can't think. How about the top of the Empire State Building?
Terry: Oh yes, that's perfect! It's the nearest thing to heaven we have in New York.
Nickie: 102nd floor and don't forget to take the elevator.
Terry: Oh, no, I won't. Darling, if things don't work out —
Nickie: Don't talk like that. I'm not listening.
Terry: Just in case one of us —
Nickie: We'll both be there! Hold the thought.
Terry: Hold the thought.
I've always loved that scene from An Affair to Remember (1957) but couldn't help but wonder why they never clarified the time precisely. I mean, of course 5 in the afternoon makes far more practical sense, but 5 in the morning — well that's just breathtaking! Thankfully for you and I, the Empire State Building does offer a Summer Sunrise ticket, where just like Nickie and Terry, you can rendezvous with a former lover (or just enjoy the view with a friend).
In case you're looking for other spots to catch the sunrise here in the city, keep reading below for some of my favorite vantage points.
Times Square (I know, I know, sounds strange, but it's actually quite peaceful before the crowds appear)
Two Bridges (a small neighborhood in Lower Manhattan between Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges, there are a few playgrounds that face the water and a running trail along FDR drive that would make for great vantage points)
When you take as many photos of beautiful doors around NYC as I do, you strike up a lot of conversations with the doormen and women usually nearby. Most are quick to ask if you’re lost or if they can help with something so when I tell them I just had to stop and admire the architecture, they seem to sigh along with me — admitting that they too, find the building to be pretty spectacular. I've also come to find if you're wearing a Yankees cap, they'll usually let you take as many photos as you like (within reason, of course). Unless they happen to be a Mets fan, in which case, ask them how deGrom's pitching is going this season. But I digress — I suppose this is a rambling appreciation post dedicated to all the doormen and women of New York City, but especially Tony at The Plaza Hotel, who always has a smile and a joke ready and doesn't shy away from a good photo opp moment. In fact, Tony and I go all the way back to 2018 — anyone remember these photos? Needless to say, it was so nice to see him again a few weeks ago at their grand reopening and perhaps with enough coaxing next time, I can encourage him to finally create that Instagram profile so I can tag him properly!
And on that note — given how often this question has popped up in my Stories lately — I wanted to share a handful of my recommendations if you happen to be heading to NYC this summer. An assortment of where to stay, where to dine and where to soak up all that NYC energy that is so tangible right now, in all the best ways possible. Hope you enjoy and, of course, welcome to New York!
Where to Stay:
The Plaza, Upper East Side; I will happily admit I'm definitely biased here, as The Plaza is one of my favorite hotels and all around landmarks in the city — and I fully recognize it may not be in everyone's budget to stay here for their entire trip. However, I'd recommend booking a night or two midweek if you can, for a taste of the experience. It's quintessential NYC at it's finest — and you won't regret the proximity to the park. Other iconic hotels to consider? The Carlyle and The Pierre are two other beautiful contenders.
Perhaps this is a product of the past year or more of staying local, but I've picked up a new hobby so to speak. And that is, garden hunting. Well, more specifically, historic homes, mansions, castles and yes, gardens, that are open to the public to appreciate, tour and generally drool over. Fortunately, New York has no shortage of any of the above — largely thanks to a few Vanderbilts, Roosevelts and other early 20th century industry tycoons, and I'm terribly fascinated by the stories behind them all. Just last week, Allie and I visited Untermyer Gardens just north of the city in Yonkers, a 43-acre public park that is the remaining portion of the former home and estate of New York City lawyer, Samuel J. Untermyer. Construction started in 1916, and it's a marvel to visit, inspired largely by Indo-Persian gardens, complete with a reflection pool, walled gardens and a Grecian-style open-air amphitheater.
Over the weekend, Ty and I visited a few more beautiful historic properties just outside the city and many of you have requested a full roundup of these spots sometime soon. I'm here to report, I'll happily deliver on that request.
I'm curious, now that the world is opening back up, slowly but surely, have you found yourself still desiring to stay local? I've always loved road trips, but I think this past year has made me realize just how much I do enjoy them and how easy they are to fit in.
Here's a fun random fact I learned the last time I was at the Guggenheim museum: While we might attribute cottagecore to something of a recent internet aesthetic craze — idealizing a bucolic, rural lifestyle where linen dresses and wildflowers are bountiful — its roots are much older. Marie Antoinette, on a whim to emulate all the naturalistic paintings of the late 18th century, commissioned the construction of a rustic retreat in the greenery outside the Palace of Versailles, known as the Hamlet. The string of cottages gave her the feeling of escapism not far from palace grounds, where she would indulge in a "simpler" but far from rigorous way of life (because let's be honest, she wasn't actually tending to any of the farm chores herself). But perhaps, much like my dear friend Serena and I indulged last week while we were upstate, she'd daydream instead about a nostalgia just out of reach of her lived experience, a painting in her mind of rolling green hills, gauzy clouds peppering a soft blue sky and the hazy promise of spring making her think, "perhaps this life is for me."
As some of you might have seen on Instagram, Serena and I spent the better part of last week in the dreamiest renovated barn in the heart of Germantown, a quaint hamlet in the Hudson Valley, nestled amongst the Catskill Mountains, just two hours outside NYC. The property itself spans 14 acres, with its own pond, dock and wooded forest, sure to keep the "Marie Antoinette city girl yearning for nature" in all of us happy and content. While we saw very little reason to leave our cottage oasis, we did venture out once or twice to explore the area — I've listed some of my favorite upstate haunts below, in case you're planning a trip soon.
Highlights in the area
Main Street in Germantown: Only a 5 minute drive from the barn, you'll find yourself in the center of town. Highly recommend checking out Otto's Market (where we got all our groceries for the week), Gaskin's Restaurant (James Beard nominated) and a handful of independently owned artisan shops, sure to keep you busy for the afternoon.
The town of Kingston: We didn't spent much time here, but did happen to grab pizza one night at Lola with a friend who lives in the area. As with most upstate towns, it's very charming.
The town of Rhinebeck: Before heading back into the city, we decided to stop in Rhinebeck for a little window shopping and lunch — highly recommend The Amsterdam if you can snag an inside booth near the bar. Very cozy!
As for the rest of these photos — I think they do the property more justice than my words ever could! Enjoy!
