Back to Fabric

Moving into a new building is also about meeting neighbors. They're a bit like family - you don't choose them, they're not going anywhere, and no matter how different you think you are, a shared address (like a last name) is a common denominator that binds. There's an inexplicable comfort in proximity, so when one of my favorite neighbors texts me on weekend mornings with a single word - JAMBA - I know I am expected in the lobby in five minutes. I had forgotten how much I liked Jamba Juice - Lime Sherbert with Lemonade, trust me - it's not on the menu, but this is expert advice. Harold's friendship with my neighbor's dog Athena is a work in progress, and the fact that she insists on walking twenty blocks to Jamba Juice is also questionable, but I oddly dig our strange ritual.

 

I have a tendency to behave like cabs are free and will take them pretty much anywhere and then wonder where all the cash I withdraw goes, so the walking part is something I always resist. But then you start to look around and realize how pretty this city can be. . .

And you start to walk by stores and check places out that you wouldn't ordinarily bother doing, and that's when you start to feel like the Christopher Columbus of Third Avenue (our path). That is exactly how I stumbled upon Baranzelli Silk Surplus fabric store on 56th and Third, the treasure chest every Back to A sailor seeks. The Atlantis, if you will, of fabric. No "to the trade" dismissive sign - walk right in and behold. . .the most gorgeous collection of fabric you have ever seen, all at discounted prices.

Whether you are looking to reupholster your chairs or make cushions (they have a service and will do it for you!), this little wonderland stems from a legacy dating back to 1929 when Italian immigrant Franco Scalamandre married Flora Baranzelli and founded a company that would provide fabrics used in the White House, the United States Capitol, the Hearst Castle, the historic Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, and countless other notable spaces. Ward Bitter is the current owner and I just discovered Baranzelli did the curtains in my girlfriend Marisa Saur's living room - "The owner is wonderful, and I am obsessed with our curtains." Marisa is nothing short of immaculate, and she's equally kicked with our UES treasure chest. I feel a fabric party coming on. . .

Now, here they are - the discontinued rolls you thought you couldn't find, and every possible option in between, at prices you will not believe.

Harold was initially dizzy at the sight of all the options. . .

. . .but Back to A is knowing that if you linger amongst the fabrics for long enough, eventually one will just speak to you. It's like dating - at first a little overwhelming, and then little by little you realize there are only a few really good ones out there for you, and then ultimately with a huge sigh of relief, you fall in love. Reupholstery is always possible, but it's a pain in the ass so you want to make sure you take your time with the initial search and get it right. There are no dead-ends, but falling in love again is a process. So after much deliberation, we agreed we had found the one - Harold was certain, too, and said, "I seriously think this is the one, Mummy."

We both could not stop staring at it.

This gorgeous periwinkle silk damask jacquard was $40 for two yards. I could drown in it, it's so delicious.

But it's not for me, nor my Jamba neighbor - this particular fabric is for another neighbor who is buying my chairs (remember, I switched to a yellow color scheme and that has created some necessary scrambling on my part). I'm going to lacquer the chairs in a light blue, and then reupholster the cushions with this fabric for Heather, who lives down the hall. I'll be spending the day doing this, and I can't help but think that Back to A may have stumbled upon a little Back to Business.

Sometimes neighbors, like family, can inspire you to take on the seemingly impossible. I still love these chairs and painting them was some of the most fun I have had in years, so I'm glad they're just going down the hall instead of out the lobby. My pink Madeline Weinrib rug found a home, too, with one of my favorite readers, and it looks better in her room than it ever did in my living room. Long walks, Jamba Juice, discoveries, exchanging, sharing, writing, painting. . . I don't rush anymore. John Fowles said it best in this stunning book:

"The supposed great misery of our century is the lack of time; our sense of that, not a disinterested love of science, and certainly not wisdom, is why we devote such a huge proportion of the ingenuity and income of our societies to finding faster ways of doing things - as if the final aim of mankind was to grow closer not to a perfect humanity, but to a perfect lightning flash." - John Fowles

I found that gem at Alex and Lorenzo Home - if the plaque was a fabric I would reupholster my life in it.

Back to Tom Sawyer

Aunt Polly was an idiot.  And that little brat Tom Sawyer missed out, too - he was far too concerned with manipulating the other kids to paint the fence.  I think the year painting becomes a scary thing is when art is no longer a required class, but rather an elective you have to elect to take.  Which is okay if you are an elitist theater geek, but the rest of us who kinda loved it but weren't very good at it, or didn't want to admit a secret proclivity for pastels, or were arduously pursuing Ph.d's in conformity just witnessed its sudden death.  We grew up to become the buyers of art, the attenders of galleries, the - well I suppose I could have just said patrons.  Brevity is a challenge for me, what can I say.  So when I saw this terrific coffee table for $120 bucks (yes, you know where) I found myself oddly captivated, but helpless.  "Help me," the table whispered knowingly, but also a little creepily, like Field of Dreams style.

I had a vision, but it was too bold.  "If you build it they will come," the table responded.  Who, hot baseball players?  I wish. At any other time in my life I would have kept on walking. Hell, I wouldn't have been caught dead in a flea market.  There was no time.  Coffee tables were procured at William Sonoma Home or Pottery Barn, not on the street. And then of course, there I was. . .

Thrust it into a cab and smushed it into the elevator, all the while knowing that the brown would simply not work. Which is why it was particularly rude when Harold announced, "This absolutely does not work." He rather liked the white couch, and yes now you know which Madeline Weinrib rug I went with.

I had a vision, and if it worked I knew that Back to A would transition from its medieval years and enter a new renaissance. Hello Anishangelo, to Janovic Plaza on 67th and Lexington you go! I got sandpaper, a couple brushes, and the correct white paint to get is Hollandlac Brilliant because it goes on like shiny white lacquer.  Oh, and a little pink pot of paint for a surprise touch.  Oh, and some tunes because when people who are Back to A who are true Jersey girls at heart paint, sometimes they listen to Pearl Jam radio and Bruce Springsteen radio on Pandora and wonder if this wasn't just the secret to serenity all along?  Pandora is a new discovery for me, although I have a sneaking suspicion there may be one or two of you that still have no clue - click away - it really is like opening a box of secrets.  It's a free radio station for your computer that plays only the songs you like - it just knows - try my favorite:  America Radio.  Tom Petty radio is great as well.  Back to the paint.

I was saying earlier that this is the best kind - Hollandlac in Brilliant White - it goes on easy, you really only need one coat, and I might be back to an elemental stage in my life but I'm still the rip-the-wrapping-paper-to-get-to-the-present type of girl; those I'm-saving-the-paper-and-going-to-spend-five-hours-opening-each-gift kids just sucked.  Ruined perfectly good birthday parties. I still harbor rage. I was so excited to begin that newspapers were not procured, and I probably sanded the table down for all of ten seconds.  If I was going to paint, it was going to happen now.  Pearl Jam's Black came on, the windows were open (yeah, fumes, but really not too bad) and outside it was about to rain.  What were you doing at 2:00 p.m. in the afternoon?

If Aunt Polly had painted while Pearl Jam played via Pandora, maybe she wouldn't have yelled as much.

The cane? Paint right over it.  Edges, sides, curved legs? Just paint away.  Only rule we have at Back to A about this project is listen to great music and fall in love with the way the brush glides over dark, brown wood and transforms it into brilliant white. This is my world and I am its creator, and a few missed spots and rough edges along the way are its charm.  The only kind of processed I like these days is at McDonalds. As for the little brass knobs. . .

. . . just paint straight on the brass.  Fine, buy primer if you are extremely anal, but truly it does not matter. Just match it to your rug, or to whatever color is making you especially happy at the moment.

For an uncomfortably long time Harold just sat silently, judging.  Then he turned and looked at me.

"It's amazing," he confessed, eyes wide and absolutely stunned.  The table was right all along.  If you build it, the most magical thing that exists in life will come.  Eddie Vedder knew all about it. . .

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life, I know you'll be a star.

Possibility.

Painted one white stroke at a time.