A Mid-Century Modern Girl
When I was 17, I wanted to live in Paris, smoke Gauloises, wear only my black turtleneck and tight jeans, and have a series of erotic adventures along the Cote d’Azur. After all, Brigitte Bardot and Jane Fonda were having a great time in St. Tropez. Gidget was busy California surfing but that wasn't sexy enough for my adolescent dreams.
I still want those things. Ok, scratch the cigs. After all, at six, I was introduced to Barbie. The Original Barbie. The one with the ponytail in a zebra swimsuit and big sunglasses. She wore fur, open-backed high heels, and had separate complete wardrobes for a Roman holiday and winter skiing. I was busy knitting her cardigans and wondering how she kept those shoes on.
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I finished high school early with no plans, no ambition except to paint, take photos and live a most bohemian sunny life. In those days, I read a lot, watched Liv Ullman being depressed in every Ingmar Bergman film and pretended to like Fellini.
Like most suburban kids with 'no direction home,' I traveled around Europe for awhile looking for adventure. Too neat to be a bonafide hippie but I could carry off pretensions of an intellectual sipping wine at The Café de Flores. At least I thought so then.
A product of the 1950’s, my parents introduced me to the arts, nature, literature, traveling, history, German automobiles, Danish modern furniture and ballet. Too chubby and lazy for dance, but it was a great way to know my body at a young age.
My inspirations were Bob Dylan, Jackie Kennedy, Chopin, Hundertwasser and Corbusier. I loved buildings, I loved designers. Still do.
Look at the period between 5 and 25 of anyone's life and I bet whatever they were exposed to then still stirs them, still evokes nostalgia.
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I suppose that’s why I’ve dug out my Tiffany charm bracelet. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. So Manhattan, so Audrey Hepburn Euro chic. I call it retail regression therapy.