Spaghetti and the view from the Moon

Three things that color the way I look at the world

Photo by Faith Crabtree

Twenty five years ago, to mark the turn of the millennium, The World of Interiors asked “23 leading artists, designers, writers, and gallery directors to select up to three things, however abstract, ‘that coloured the way they looked at the world.’” I’m keen to one day read the entirety of the collected thoughts in that issue, but for now, I have this tidbit from current The World of Interiors editor, Emily Tobin:

“Beneath his scribbled self-portrait Ettore Sottass listed ‘traditional handmade spaghetti’ and ‘the sight of the earth from the moon’; John Galliano chose Giovanni Boldini’s portrait of the Marchesa Luisa Casati and Neil MacGregor opted for an Alessi coffee maker. ‘It is a survey course in European art,’ he wrote. ‘The dome of the Duomo in Florence is on the gas ring every morning. On top is a perfect sphere, below a cylinder that Cézanne would have killed for. With a triangular spout and rectangular handle to reassure any lingering unreconstructed Constructionists that Soviet Minimalism can still delight.’ Have you ever read a better description of a kitchen appliance?”

Other snippets I found online include Miuccia Prada selecting Walter De Maria’s seminal desert land art “The Lightning Field”, the Pyramids and the Sphinx, and the films of Antonioni. Rei Kawakubo chose diamonds, trees, and vegetables. Phillip Stark centered himself in science with the human heart, the DNA double helix, and the Hubble telescope. Vivienne Westwood was full of romance, picking Vermeer’s “The Lacemaker”, Vaux-le-Vicomte château outside Paris, and Tchaikovsky’s “The Sleeping Beauty” ballet.

It’s a terrific prompt. One that has me curious to hear how countless people in my life would answer it. I’ve been mulling it over myself, as if my reply will define me in some way. But I think it’s actually a rather poignant question to ask. The smattering of antidotes from the January 2000 magazine are uplifting reminders of how vast and varied and endlessly beautiful this world is. All that’s been created, and all that exists beyond. To wax poetic about a kitchen appliance! To attend the ballet and be enchanted for the rest of your life! To simply think about galaxies!

And so, here are my three things that color the way I look at the world…

Pompeii

On a cold and damp January day in 2007, I ditched my architectural drawing class and wandered Pompeii on my own, completely awe-struck. I was 19, it was my first time in Italy, and despite being an exceptionally well travelled teenager, nothing impacted me quite like the experience of walking down unfathomably ancient basalt stone streets that had been buried under volcanic ash for two thousand years.

This was my introduction to Roman ruins. It’s where I first encountered vibrant frescos and intact mosaics. Something about seeing these in the context of homes and everyday community space left me stupefied. And I couldn’t get over the story of Vesuvius erupting, that no one stood a chance. All the while, Pliny the Younger watching from across the Bay of Naples while his uncle tried and failed to help.

It scared me, thrilled me, made me feel utterly alive as my gaze continually shifted from ruins to Vesuvius and back again. A dichotomy of strength and vulnerability, tragedy and beauty, horror and inspiration, that I’ve regularly returned to in my thoughts in all the years since.

Stop Making Sense

David Byrne’s unique artistry has captivated me ever since my older brother strongly suggested that I listen to “Stop Making Sense” instead of NSYNC. The album has fueled me ever since and it wasn’t long before I was knee deep in the concert film. I’m not an obsessive fan, but devotedly adoring enough to have tears of joy stream down my cheeks at a park in Queens while the crowd shouted back the lyrics to “Burning Down the House” at Bryne’s American Utopia tour.

In my eyes, “Stop Making Sense” is the absolute perfect concert and that’s thanks to Byrne knowing exactly how to craft a spectacularly paced story. Yes the big suit, but also: dancing with a lamp, the chemistry amongst the band, Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry’s moves, David Byrne’s shapes. The kinetic energy and magnetic crescendo built throughout the show is unparalleled!

I watch it multiple times a year and have insisted at least eight different friends watch it with me because I cannot handle them not experiencing the brilliance. I’ve danced alongside hundreds of fans watching it projected in a club in San Francisco, and danced in my seat at the movies soaking in the 40th anniversary restoration. I could likely reenact the entire show by heart, and yet, and yet, and yet: rewatching it for the umpteenth time fills me with immense joy every single time.

The camera

This feels like an overly obvious choice, but the reality is that I’ve been framing the world through a camera lens since I was a photo kid routinely tucked away in the darkroom in high school. I process spaces better by creating compositions. The act of taking a photograph slows me down and makes me more aware of singular details. I think about shapes, I think about narratives.

I haven’t worked with film in over a decade and I’ve taken more pictures with my iPhone than I can fathom, but regardless of what camera I’m working with, I still find myself in something of a trance when trying to find the shot. Some of my favorite memories from my travels are of chasing light across sprawling fjords, down winding alleys, through stained glass windows.

Two weeks ago I bought a Fujifilm X100F after a year of lusting after this particular camera. It’s a fun way to tip toe my way back towards film, and a spring spent living in Paris was the perfect excuse to finally commit. I can’t wait to take in the light, watch it dance across the Seine, and become fully consumed photographing it.

** Pressing send from my plane seat at JFK, soon to be making my way to CDG. **