Saturday, March 13, 2010

One Man's Folly is Another Man's Vision



Dear hearts,

I have always wanted to live in a chateau. Doesn’t everyone? All of those beautiful windows, those beautiful garden mazes. Miss Mich has fond memories of chasing the children (elegantly obvi..) around the gardens of Fountainbleu in the summer. This is not to say Miss Mich has slummed it in terms of accommodation. Certainly not. (Apart from Pandora’s Box upon which we will not dwell) In her former life there were several grand country homes, one in fact, with its own sunken rose maze complete with enormous ornate urns at either end so that one always had one’s bearings. There was the house on the top of beautiful Bellevue Hill overlooking Miss Mich’s eastern suburbs world – Bondi, Rose Bay to Watson’s Bay and finally across the harbour to the pier at Manly. The town house in Chelsea and the stunning mansion flat at 66 Eaton Place SW1. Is it churlish of me to hanker for more?

One should always be aspirational. I think it’s good for you. Please understand the difference between aspirational and consumerist. You may think wishing for a chateau somewhat consumerist or avaricious, but let’s be practical here, and honest, where am I going to actually find a chateau in the far far north? …Hmmm?

So we shall call this what it is. A folly. And I do love a good folly. I actually love the word itself. From the French folie – foolishness. I love what the English did with it architecturally in the 18th century, when landscape design was dominated by the tenets of Romanticism. English Lords had the big name architects of the day beetling around the back paddock designing whatever took their fancy; classical ruins, a medieval tower, bridge over the river Kwai…the big pineapple…

Miss Mich is realistic when it comes to what is truly achievable. And taking into consideration the aspect of The Cottage, the fact that it is home to not only herself and the Baby, but those lovely wobbalies, and the dear sweet couple of Bush fowl, various reptiles and bright young things who tear down the drive in their P plated utes and hatch backs, it seems to me scale is the thing to be considered here. It is with this in mind that Miss Mich has decided to create the Chateau of her dreams, to construct, with the able bodied help of The Libertine, the perfect doll house sized folly. To sit on the lawn and entertain the Ulysses butterflies. Miss Mich will make teeny tiny cutouts of herself and the lovely Libertine and live herself vicariously as Josephine to L’s Napoleon. A little Versailles in the heart of the Northern beaches. How much fun will that be?

As it is the baby laughs when she sees what constitutes the decoration of The Cottage now. Not the French antiques of our former life, the fine English porcelain and the Persian rugs. No, Dear hearts, now we have what she affectionately refers to as Miss Mich’s “woven shit”. The cane furniture, the baskets from New Guinea and the art of the Torres Strait. The shells collected like treasure and displayed with the reverence as jewels of the sea, which they are.

As she totters out for a night in town, she looks over her shoulder to say “Bon Nuit…and what is this gypsy incense wafting all over me?”

I remind her of her Mother’s folly. To create as serene a space as is possible. To bring the world and all the experiences to date, here, in this cottage that we call home. Miss Mich must confess to a hankering not only for a pint sized Chateau, but also the need to nest. To create a space that will welcome the future and the addition…

of more woven shit…

Enjoy nesting and Saturday.

With love
Miss Mich

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