February is my birthday month and it also happens to be Leap Year. I decided that this entry would be a tribute to leaping.

Our new “Dickon’s Garden” designer rug arrived a few days ago from India, and I instantly leapt across it in sock feet. I felt like a child dancing in a magical garden!

I have been painting dancers a la The Ballet Russe lately. In the spirit of leaping and a long love for the ballet, I decided to try my hand at painting some Russian gypsies. My husband and I are Russophiles. We often leap around our living room to Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet.” Whether in Kandinsky, Nureyev, Baryshnikov, Chagall, Prokofiev, Tolstoy, or little Sasha Cohen, we are well aware of the unparalleled kind of passion that exists in the Russian culture.

My own heritage is Eastern European. My love for embroideries, and the use of black with dashes of red and gold must stem from these roots. I remember my parents taking us to The Russian Tea Room after a Carnegie Hall concert. I remember saving those colorful postcards they handed out and pinning them to my bulletin board for early inspiration.

For me, there is something about the word” leap” that I feel describes my voice in design. I have always “defected” from industry trends. I remember the look on Rudolph Nureyev’s face, in a documentary I had seen a few years back, at the moment he decided to defect in Paris. The gift that he then bestowed upon the ballet world was unparalleled; his leaps higher and more brilliant than seemed humanly possible. Like a goat in a Chagall painting, he bounded over rooftops, moving with a kind of passion that made people shout at curtain calls. It is this kind of exuberance and unbridled passion that I have always loved in all creative realms, and aspire to in my life in design.

The New Year rolls in and so does our new “Begonias” plush designer rug. What a thrill it was to see this rug completed! The colors are bursting with life, energy and exuberance!

This design actually started as a floral I painted on canvas years ago. A few years later we developed it into an embroidered wool pillow, then some fabric, and now a plush hand woven rug. With the birth of each new product, I feel a sense of awe and then gratitude for the beautiful workmanship provided by these wonderful artisans in India.

Another arrival in our collection is our new “Anil’s Garden” quilted Kantha bags, each one made of extremely soft cotton, hand sewn in the Kantha technique with careful attention to construction and printing. What a joy it is to receive these new treasures for our collection!

Over the holidays, my beautiful niece Zoe turned fourteen. She is a free spirit who loves to dance. She can draw chic little girls with attitude and a unique sense of style. (She could be the next Anna Sui!)


I decided to send her my “Fidelio” rug for her birthday since she too loves flowers and rich color around her. Her brother Rollie, an amazing artist and talented guitarist, snapped a photo in her bedroom with her new floral addition when it arrived, and I cherish it.

Last month while setting up for the BDNY design trade show at the Javits Center, we headed towards 10th Avenue to catch a cab back home. We walked up 48th Street from 11th Avenue, where I came upon a beautiful horse that was tied to a wall by a two -inch chain. I cannot begin to describe the pain this gave me. The horse looked so sad, standing there without the ability to move, facing a brick wall. I petted him lovingly and walked into the garage that was open asking if anyone was there. A man came out from the darkness and said gruffly, “What do you want?” I said, “How long is this horse going to be tied to the wall like that?” He said, “He’s mine, now off with you.”

I asked whether I could feed the horse. He pointed to a barrel that was filled with oats. I reached in and cupped my hands full, went over to the horse to feed him. The horse was so beautiful. His eyes were full of sadness. He was so obviously grateful for just a few moments of kindness. Across the street was his carriage unhinged, a nine- hour day of work behind him, and now a dark, dirty and ugly place to retire ahead- after being tied to a brick wall.

I cried in the cab en route home. I called my cousin in Greenwich Village whom I knew had been involved in helping to create awareness for these poor horses and the abuse they long endured.

These beautiful creatures are simply slaves. They do nothing all day but carry tourists through Central Park and through the noisy and crowded streets of the city for nine hours each day, seven days a week. They have no green pasture to graze in, to rest their weary legs and spirits. At the end of the day, they are not given proper care, love or compensation for their noble efforts. Instead, they are tied cruelly to brick walls- unable to budge, put for the night into dirty city stables, left like slaves til morning when the bitter routine begins anew. Horses have been collapsing and dying right before the eyes of tourists who don’t seem to see beyond their own ridiculous “romantic” notions.

I have been an animal lover my whole life, and have always felt a kind of psychic connection with all animals. As I walked away from the horse on 48th Street whom I learned was named “Marcello” I literally felt his cry from within. It was unbearable.

I would like to see these horse-drawn carriages BANNED from the streets of New York. They are inhumane, totally unnecessary. For years I have avoided passing Central Park South by the Plaza Hotel, just so that I wouldn’t have to see their tortured souls, see them bending their legs upward for relief on brutally hot summer days when the pavement reached sizzling temperatures, or on freezing days in winter.

I would ask that if you have read this far in my blog, to please click on the link below and sign the petition that bans these horse carriage rides in New York City that are pointless and cruel, to be the voice for these beautiful and noble creatures that have no choice, no voice, and to help give them the proper retirement and respect they so deserve.


www.banhdc.org

www.nyclass.org

Thank you.

This month we participated in the Boutique Design New York hospitality tradeshow at the Jacob Javitz Center. We met with hotel owners, decorators, designers and editors. Here are just a few photos from the event.

The theme of the garden has always inspired me the most as a painter. I have been drawn to painting flowers because they are brilliant in color, exuberant in form, and because the garden is an inexhaustible metaphor for “life;” a place to explore inner dialogue, as well as trust the absence of it.

Recently, my beloved Uncle Lou passed away. He was ninety-five years old. I loved him dearly ever since I was a little girl. He had a kind face, a gentle manner, and a loving heart. He somehow held no judgment over others, teaching me early on about unconditional love. At family gatherings we held hands tightly. No matter what the occasion that bond was always there. I learned something very important from our relationship; that love was a silent thing. It didn’t matter how often you spent time with someone; what mattered was the essence of the soul connection.

When my father phoned to tell me that my uncle was in the hospital with pneumonia, I knew the end was approaching. Shortly after learning of his hospitalization, I poured myself into painting a still life, a subject I was not usually drawn to. Until then all of my floral canvases and textiles were un-planted, free floating, with no vase or pot beneath them. Throughout the process of this painting, I was fully immersed in my feelings for him. Towards the end, for the first time, I found myself potting them, in of all colors, purple. I decided to name the painting “Lou’s Bouquet.”

A week later we attended his funeral. My father asked me to bring this new painting to the service along with a poem I had written about him. The painting was propped beside the many photos of his life on display. On one of the boards there was a Purple Heart, a medal he had earned while serving four years in France during World War II. To my surprise, his Purple Heart was the exact same shape and color as the purple pot I had painted one week earlier, in my still life.

My Buddhist healer said to me before Lou had passed away, “Honey, you don’t need to go to the hospital to see him. He felt your love while you painted this painting with him in your heart. It’s not necessary to physically be with someone for them to receive your love.” The rabbi who spoke at the funeral said, “When looking at this painting, I am reminded of a beautiful quotation from the Bible: “God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.”