Crate O’Christmas
August 4th, 2008Everything’s coming up nativity. A crate of our new nativity candle holders have just arrived. This year at our Christmas Market, we will have metal nativity and tannenbaum candle holders.
Truckload of tannenbaums and nativities
Designed to shape and restructure candle light, our candle holders will surely cast a warm glow onto any table or mantle — hopefully yours!
Uncrated for Christmas
Christmas in July
July 26th, 2008
A porch full of Christmas!
Friday I was greeted by the UPS man with boxes upon boxes of the new Christmas items I had designed. They filled the front porch. I had my weekend’s worth of work. All 15 boxes needed to be unpacked and inventoried.
Unpacking and sorting snow flakes
With over 5000 items, I am pleased to announce that only 10 items were damaged. The time has now arrived to begin assembling the snow strings, painting the ornaments, and getting ready for the Christmas Market on November 28-30.
I hope to see you there!
Snow drifts in the corners of the Schoolhouse
Berlin or Bust
July 24th, 2008The final destination of our travels: Berlin. I had heard so many things about this city. Would it be a playground for Sally Bowles (of Cabaret fame) with her black page boy coif singing torch songs? Or a grey, dreary post-Soviet city of tower blocks? Or teeming with skinny tattooed punks in slim stovepipe leather trousers and a sneer, but when approached would enthusiastically divulge their grandmother’s recipe for sauerbraten? Just what would we find?
Berlin’s destroyed and reconstructed cathedral.
I had been following the architecture building boom. I was aware of the renovation of the Reichstag and the new embassies sprouting all around it. But architecture is only a small part of what makes a city.
First, I had my sights on Potsdam. I was determined to explore this suburb and Sanssouci. Sanssouci (French for without concern) was a pleasure park built by the German royals to escape the rigors of ruling.
Sans souci says it all.
Sanssouci is dotted with summer residences and pleasure pavilions. This excursion was sure to be one of the highlights of the Maria-Theresa Tour, even though we were firmly in the territory of her rival, the Kaiser. It was here at Sanssouci, in the breakfast room of the Neues Palace that the Kaiser signed the paperwork that started WWI, a rather dark chapter for a place created for frivolity.
Neues Palace in a brighter light.
On the way to the Orangerie.
Set among pathways that crisscrossed the park lay the pleasure pavilions. One the the most interesting was the Romanisches Bad (Roman baths). As was the fashion, it was constructed to resemble a recently unearthed Pompeiian bath.
A welcoming mosaic floor in the Roman bathhouse.
The courtyard of the Roman bath.
The Pompeiian-inspired frigidarium.
But I was there to see Schinkel’s “palace” for the Crown Prince Frederick, Charlottenhof. This charming dwelling is so intimately scaled that I ready to move in.
Sanssouci parkland and its pleasures.
The crown prince’s palace.
The portico of the petite palace.
At last I was to actually stand in the “tented room” whose pictures had provided inspiration for the guest room in our first home. Pinch me! No one on the tour spoke English so I did it myself!
Onto the rest of my tour of Potsdam.
To my astonishment, a mid-century renaissance was taking place in Potsdam. It was similar to what I witnessed in Palm Springs a decade ago.
Mid-century tower blocks before restoration.
This time it was Soviet-era tower blocks that were being rejuvenated. Once the foreboding sentinels of the skyline, they now have been recast with color. Evoking favored pattern and color combinations of the early Bauhaus textile designers like Gunta Stölzl and Anni Albers.
Renewed and rejunvenated Potsdam.
After logging what must have been nearly 10 miles on foot in and around Potsdam, I returned to Berlin, ready to discover it.
Berlin is a city of contrasts. It is new and old; beautiful and ugly. Like every large metropolitan city the streets are teeming with cars and pedestrians. There is charm and in certain areas, a great lack of it in others. In a way, it reminded me of the city that I love, Los Angeles.
Like almost every American, we made our pilgrimage to Check Point Charlie and the Brandenburg Gate.
Picture this. Only two Euros!
The Brandenburg Gate.
Growing up in the 1970’s, these two icons were what symbolized Berlin. They appeared in all the spy movies during the Cold War. They elicited a tingle of danger, of excitement. They were the edge; the boundary where freedom stopped, mid street. Now they have become a tourist bus stop where for two Euros you can be photographed with actors posing as Western and Eastern Bloc guards.
All that is left of the Wall, its imprint.
We stayed in the Kurfurstandam, an area which was West Berlin before the Wall fell. Once the height of Western commerce in a divided city, it appeared faded and dated with its impersonal high rises and anonymous architecture.
Venturing in Unter den Linden (under the Linden trees) in the former eastern sector, we discovered the new heart of Berlin. Named for the wide boulevard near the Reichstag this, is the newly restored seat of the German government.
The Reichstag with its new dome.
The Reichstag on the river.
Here the past mingles with the present. Along the boulevard is the grand home of Aeroflot, national airline of the Soviet Union, situated in the same building as the Russian Embassy. A few paces down the boulevard stands the Brandenburg Gate. Turn left and you will find the new American embassy. It’s one of the largest buildings here. The embassy overlooks one of the newest and most poignant memorials I have experienced, the The Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe, also known as the Holocaust Memorial, by US architect Peter Eisenman.
Entrance to the memorial.
It is a gridded labyrinth, orderly and controlled. As one enters the ground gives way. What appeared at first look to be an assortment of rectangular, coffin-like pyres, suddenly loom above.
The memorial rising in front.
Its cobbled pathways undulate beneath you causing uncertainly with every step. As you venture further into the memorial it grows darker. Light is visible, but dimmed. A straight path allows exit. A turn right or left sets you on a new perilous path.
The uncertain path forward.
It becomes a personal journey that really can not be described, but needs to be experienced. This is what makes a truly great memorial, the ability for an inanimate object to become a personalized experience.
I suppose that is the best way to experience any city; come with no preconceived ideas and then just let the experience wash over you. That’s how I approached Berlin. I discovered a city with a sad and tragic past that it has been dealing with for over a half a century. It now struggles with the complexities of multi-culturalism in a modern world; a rather befitting task for a city that was once known for its strident homogenity.
Posted in travel | No Comments »Why not Weimar?
July 22nd, 2008What is this place Weimar? I had heard the name many times over the years. It was almost always in the context of the Weimar Republic. But just what was that? The more I read and the more I researched, amazingly the more I discovered. Funny how that works!
Weimar revealed itself in layers: layers of learning, like an onion. I should say like pages of a book– many, many books. Weimar as I learned was a hot-bed of thought. It drew thinkers and writers. It collected designers. And it enthralled me with its charm. I too was captivated.
Markt Platz in Weimar
Once ignited, Weimar drew the thinkers like moths to a flame. Perhaps it started with Goethe. Who in turn invited his friend Schiller to his home. He promptly moved there, helping to create the magical period known as Weimar Classicism lasting from 1788-1832.
Goethe’s house overlooking a square
Goethe’s garden
Goethe probably best known in literature for Faust, was an influential 18th and early 19th century thinker who also wrote scientific texts such as the Theory of Colours and influenced Charles Darwin with his writings on plant morphology.
His friend and colleague, Schiller was a poet, dramatist, philosopher and historian. His seminal piece is William Tell. Remember the overture? It was a story about a father, a son, an arrow and an apple.
Schiller’s house and museum
And what is literature without libraries? For a small town, Weimar has a beauty. The Herzogin Anna-Amalia Bibliotheka.
The newly restored Anna-Amalia Bibliotheka
I wondered just what is a Herzogin? I learned that she is a duchess. And boy, oh boy did she have a library. Restoration work had been completed only a few months prior. There had been a devastating fire four years ago. Many of the priceless manuscripts and maps had been lost to the flames and many more to water damage.
In a testament to the resiliency that was in evidence throughout our travels in eastern Germany, its reincarnation was stunning.
But Weimar wasn’t just for book learning alone, it was also the original home to the Bauhaus Design School. Walter Gropius founded it in 1919. In 1925 it moved to Dessau, but it all started here.
A Bauhaus take on a chandelier A Jugendstil newel post
There is a small museum with original Bauhaus student work. And when I say original student work I mean paintings by Kandinsky and Klee. There are also early prototypes of Mies van der Rohe’s tubular tables and chairs and Josef Albers color-topped side tables. These are the conceptual designs and amateur student construction of pieces that would later become icons of modernity in the world of furniture.
Elephant Hotel on Markt Platz
During our brief stay in Weimar, we were fortunate to stay at Hotel Elephant. It is one of the longest running hotels in Europe. It has been in existence since the early 16th century.
Lobby view from the sweeping staircase of the hotel
Its interior possesses a brilliant combination of early modern furnishings and art held within a container of beautifully inlaid wood paneled walls and assured liberal use of black.
The sun-drenched dining hall at the Elephant Hotel
A restorative cocktail after a day of touring house museums
We found Weimar irresistible, a jewel of a town brimming with small, but important house museums, lovely squares ringed with cafes, and cobbled streets lined with ginkgo trees.
With fond memories of our adventures here, we boarded our train to our final destination. Berlin awaited us.
Our dining car on the train to Berlin
Phoenix, Germany
July 7th, 2008We waved good-bye to Prague and said Guten Tag to Dresden. Two hours and a language separate these cities.
The Dresden Block House in bloom. A block house housed the munitions to protect the city.
The old united with the new, our hotel on the Elbe.
Dresden and Meissen (a city just a few miles away) have for centuries been celebrated for their royal porcelain works. These factories produced exquisite pieces that rivaled the Chinese and Japanese imports that indiscriminately were referred to as “Indian”.
These fragile, semi-transparent and finely-painted ceramics had become so fashionable among the aristocracy that Saxon Elector Augustus the Strong decided to found a porcelain manufactory in Dresden. Between 1708-1710 the first European porcelain was developed.
Porcelain under glass.
It was a tragic, ironic twist of history that befell this city. Dresden, also known as Florence on the Elbe was the Baroque capital of Saxony. It was renown for creating beauty from fire. You see, porcelain manufacture requires intense heat, between 1200-1400 degrees. In the final days of World War II, 13 square miles of Dresden were destroyed by fire-bombing. That was February 13-15, 1945.
From the ashes of 60 years ago, this city has risen like a phoenix. Its barqoue, soot-covered buildings are now restored and crowned in new gold. The dramatic contrast is stunning as the newly restored ornament glitters beneath the pristine blue skies.
All that glitters is gold!
Black and gold and blue skies over Dresden.
The buildings of Innere Altstadt (the inner old city) are strung like the jewels of a magnificent architectural necklace along the south back of the Elbe. Their reflections shimmer in the river, earning the name Caneletto’s View in honor of the great Italian artist.
The famous Caneletto’s View
With only a single day in Dresden, our tour of the city was a whirlwind: a trek to the Pfund dairy, a must see for tile afficiados.
Pfund’s Dairy’s famous porcelain panels.
We swung around Zwinger Palace to see the stunning porcelain museum.
Zwinger Palace’s Baroque gardens laid out like giant damask patterns
The promenade of porcelain at Zwinger Palace.
Then we boarded our train to Weimar, seat of the 19th century literari, later the namesake for the short lived inter-war republic and the first home to Bauhaus School of Design.
ICE, ice baby… our InterCityExpress train to Weimar
Dining a’ la board
Prague (part dew)
June 20th, 2008Draining the last of our drink, we peered from our perch behind the plate glass window. Will this rain never stop? As if by decree, a shaft of light stabbed the mist. (Note to self: use this power for good!)
Mist fought back. But sunlight valiantly battled on until its rays had victoriously swept the streets. The cobbles glistened gold. Vanquished, vapor retreated to the damp corners and shadows.
The city beckoned. Thus continued our adventure: Prague (part dew)
We stepped outside. The air was fresh and invigorating. Doors opened and people flooded onto the street. They all seemed to be heading in one direction. What the heck, we joined in.
Hit the cobbles running
The only other time I had experienced a mass confluence like this was at the Louvre.
We encountered a throng moving in a determined direction. It looked like they knew where they were going, so we joined them. Like a swarm of bees returning to their queen, we rounded a corner and there she was, Mona Lisa.
Winding through the narrow streets, our numbers continued to grow. Those heading in the opposite direction soon discovered it was fruitless. They too succumbed and joined our ranks.
Just as I was beginning to question this herd mentality, we spilled out into Staromestke Namesti (Old Town Square). We had arrived at the very the heart of the old city. Some times you just have to go with the flow!
Old square New transportation
The square was ringed with outdoor cafes with colorful umbrellas. Their tables filled with revelers. The sun had come out! There were shops and museums and the Old Town City Hall with its astronomical clock.
The astronomical clock in Staromestki Namesti
Every hour, a parade of the 12 apostles would appear, circle forth and then return back inside until the striking of the next hour. At the center of the square was a heroic bronze statue that had long ago oxidized into a stunning turquoise green.
A short distance down a dogged-leg lane lay the Vltava River. Across the Karluv Most (Charles Bridge) is Prague Castle and its gardens. Karluv Most is lined with statues and vendors. The statues are of historical and religious importance; the vendors, touristic.
The view from Karluv Most towards Prague Castle
Fixtures on Karluv Most
After crossing the bridge, we left the pack and took a more circuitous route to the castle. Meandering along the river, we turned and took out-of-the-way side streets that climbed steeply to the castle.
On the way to the castle
The castle grounds were thronged with spectators awaiting the changing of the guard. We slipped through the crowd to take a peek around the inner courtyards. After taking in the fabulous view, began our descent back down to the river, furiously snapping photographs along the way.
Prague Castle grounds
Protecting Prague Castle!
The view from Prague Castle towards Old Town
As our time in Prague drew to a close, the clouds closed in. Like soggy book ends, the weather bracketed our experiences in the city. It is a volume filled with architectural discovery, an appreciation for the optimistic resiliency of the Czech spirit, and really, really good beer!
All aboard. Dresden awaits.
Prague (part rain)
June 19th, 2008Brimming to capacity with the experiences of Vienna, we boarded our train to Prague. I thought this would be a great time to reflect upon what we had seen and mentally sort and file these experiences away for future reference. Early 20th century Vienna had such energy and progressive thinking about creativity. I needed to do some analyzing myself. I do love Klimt’s use of gold leaf and bold flat pattern and the hauntingly tormented portraits of Egon Schiele. How does all of this fit in my compendium of creative thought. Or does it? If I did embrace it and attempt to incorporate it, wouldn’t I simply be an historical dilettante? Wasn’t that just what these artists were railing against?
With a 3 hour journey ahead of us, it seemed contemplation on such heady matters was assured. I could immerse myself into the experience of travel abroad; of seeing locals tending their garden plots along the tracks; of factory workers at cigarette breaks, my own foreign film of sorts without the subtitles.
My romantic musings were shattered before the opening credits even had finished. I understood the words. They were in English, not charmingly accented English, but American English. And they got louder and louder. They seemed to be coming from both ends of the train car; stereo! Before I knew it, we were beset upon by a noisy crowd of tourists.
Three couples with unwieldy suitcases struggled down the aisle. This was the cause for much consternation and yelling among them. The suitcases were so large, it was only with great difficulty, grunting, and my help that they were heaved onto and then stuffed into the overhead luggage rack. Then there were 2 women who decided to play the world’s noisiest game of gin rummy. In an attempt to quietly see the world through a different point of view, we were foiled by hearing all about it by loud, overly-packed American tourists.
We promptly sought escape and headed to the dining car. We were greeted by Pavel and a kindly smile. What we found there was peace and quiet - a piece of cheese toast and coffee.
Czeching out the dining car
Our cheese toast respite
We had been racing the weather. But it was beginning to catch up. As the train pulled into Prague, the skies turned as grey as its Soviet-era train station.
Welcome to Prague
Map in hand, we began the journey to our hotel. Remember this was the first day and you know what usually happens — directional confusion! So off we go to the information kiosk. After much nodding and theatrical pointing, we found our way to the tram stop.
One tram, two trams, there’s our tram — fingers crossed! We scrambled on board just as a torrential cloudburst burst, nervously chuckling like condemned men who had just dodged a bullet.
Acting as GPS, I turned our damp map with each curve in the road. Dutifully I watched for street signs and landmarks. This got progressively more difficult as the windows steamed with moisture. Like an intermittent wiper, I would stroke the window clear and check our position. The final curve; we were crossing the river. Our hotel is across the river. At that point we knew we were on the right tram. The next stop was ours.
Splashing down onto the cobbled sidewalk, I couldn’t help but think of myself as a latter day Gene Kelly. We set off in the rain in search of Hotel Josef, our small luggage train in tow keeping a merry syncopated beat - climp, clomp, splot.
A right turn instead of left (remember this is still the first day!) we circled back around and spotted our hotel through the downpour. We arrived soaked, but with a smile; a broad smile. It was bright, crisply designed and sparkled defiantly against the weather.
Hotel Josef
Designed by Eva Jiricna, it combined two houses, one pink and one orange. This set forth the coded accent colors that followed. An immaculate glass tread circular staircase was the focal point of the lobby. A smart, minimal bar lined one wall. A slim young man was polishing cocktail glasses. He was effortlessly gaunt, an achievement seen only among young Europeans.
After checking in, we made our way to our room. This was perhaps the sexiest hotel room I had ever seen. Everything was chrome and glass, except the bed throw and chair. They were orange. Remember the aforementioned color code.
The desk, the closet, the bathroom counter, the bathroom sink-the whole bathroom was glass. For sheer modesty the shower and WC were frosted. What wasn’t glass was mirror, all polished and shiny. But what made it even more impressive, was that it was streak free. I was awed by the attention housekeeping staff had given these high maintenance surfaces.
No stone throwing in here!
The shower and wc — sparkling examples of cleanliness
Enough with the room, cocktails were required. It must be 5 o’clock somewhere! A quick toweling and we were set. We arrived back down in the lobby and took our place in a pair of trim white leather club chairs opposite the large plate glass windows. Hair damp, but artfully tousled, dry martinis were ordered.
As guests exited the hotel, their umbrellas would pop open like giant mechanical flowers bursting into bloom, ready to join the moving bouquet in the street. I sat mesmerized watching the unfolding scene. Pedestrians hopped and skipped over the cobbles. Some used their umbrellas for balance like an aerialist. Occasionally, they stole a glance in our direction. Others simply stared.
Who was watching whom? Had the predator now become the prey? — or perhaps, the conceptual art installation in the window? If so, I had the perfect title for us.
Dry: Americans and their Martinis.