Bromeliads can be propagated from seed which should be sown onto wet finely chopped sphagnum moss. Surface sow with no covering as seeds need light to germinate. Pots can be covered with cling-film. Germination usually occurs within 2–3 weeks at 22–24°C.
The heater in the studio failed pretty spectacularly on Friday, damage TBD. Kind of scary that it was so hard to get out…
Most of the places we ate, drank, window-shopped, and explored within 48 hours last weekend.
E.Dehillerin · Loup · Epices Rœllinger · Empreintes · Galerie Perrotin · Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle · Une Glace à Paris · Caffè Jadis · Marché aux Puces de la Porte de Vanves · Rue des Martyrs · Lepic Assiette · Fête des Vendanges de Montmartre · Galeries Lafayette · Centre Pompidou
Dökkt rúgbrauð is a mildly sweet dark rye bread from Iceland. Traditionally, it is baked in the ground using geothermal heat. To mimic this cooking method at home, the bread is cooked at a low temperature for an unusually long time, around 8 hours.
Until I watched the BBC documentary “Moominland Tales: The Life of Tove Jansson”, I had never really known about the artist and author Tove Jansson nor the context for her work. I’m so glad to have come across the film. She was an impressive and talented woman that lived through some devastating times. The documentary is enhanced by quite a bit of original footage, images, and quotes from her journals and other writings. It also includes interviews of her friends and family. My only criticism would be that the tilt-shift effect on some of the shots of contemporary Helsinki and the Finnish countryside felt a little heavy-handed.
The scene above was likely filmed by Tove Jansson’s partner and great love Tuulikki Pietilä, a Finnish graphic artist. Her nickname was Tooti. For nearly 30 summers, Tove and Tooti lived and worked in a cottage that they built together on a little remote island called Klovharu. It sounds like they were quite the independent adventurers, and their time on the island seemed idyllic. This moment was rather heart-wrenching.
Last summer something unforgivable happened: I started to fear the sea. The giant waves no longer signified adventure but fear. Fear and worry, for the boat and all the other boats that were sailing around in bad weather. We knew it was time to give the cottage away.
Once they had left, they never wanted to come back. They didn’t even want to talk about it. It was the end, and that was it.
A side note: Sophia Jansson’s comment reminded me of a moment in a recent episode of NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me when Peter Sagal asked Norman Lear if he had any tips “for those of us who would like to arrive at 93 as spry and as successful and happy as you are”.
What occurred to me first is two simple words, maybe as simple as any two words in the English language – over and next. We don’t pay enough attention to them. When something is over, it is over, and we are on to next.
I enjoyed working on a proposal with Mobile Studio recently for Constructing Communities. This evening at the RIBA building on Great Portland Street, Julie Cormie is giving a pecha kucha on ‘Flipping Bricks’, our proposal for an architectural intervention driven by real-time train data.
Though it’s become a lot easier to find good Mexican food in London since I moved here in 2010, it’s still pretty hard to find tamales. I was in the mood for them over the weekend so tried making them for the first time.