we’re so pleased today to share with you the home of sophie blackall, as it’s one of the more fantastical “sneak peeks” we’ve shown on the site. i’m sure most of you have seen her work in any number of national publications, but i was most drawn to her latest project “missed connections” where she illustrates textual missed connection posts from around the world that really drew me in (which are scheduled to become a book in 2012). originally from australia, sophie has called brooklyn home for the past 10 years. click here for more great images of her space. {thanks so much, sophie, for opening up your home to us today!} -anne
A piano foot, an ‘S’ shaped twig, a deer hoof pin cushion, an old Australian football, a dolphin vertebra, an emu egg, a Brooklyn landscape and a whale.
The sting ray is a rubber one and the shadow box is filled with shells collected on beach in Australia, to remind me of home. I can’t remember why the boy in the painting is blue or why he has a first aid cup on his head, but it seemed to belong in the bathroom.
My daughter, Olive helped me choose the color of the walls in my bedroom. I didn’t know whether it should be a nun’s cell, a womb or a cave: ivory, a rich pink, or a shadowy, earthy color. The cave won, and we went with this one, called desert shadow.
The dolls have been collected over the years. Some from antique shops, some handed down to me in childhood, and one I found on the street. I like them worn and missing limbs. I can’t tell if they are much loved or neglected; they end up looking the same.
CLICK HERE for the rest of Sophie’s peek after the jump!
The mosquito net is romantic but also practical. I don’t like air conditioners so I sleep with the window open and New York mosquitos are surprisingly fierce and abundant.
The quilt I made out of 19th century bed sheets. Each square has a line from a poem or a song or a book that means something to me. I stitched them over a Summer, on the subway mostly.
The hand mirrors help brighten up the hallway but there’s no excuse for the pile of shoes.
The books on the shelves I’ve read and the ones stacked beneath the antelope are yet to be read. I can’t bring myself to get rid of books, even if I doubt I’ll read them again. I just like looking at their spines.
This is a painting I did of Proust’s bedroom. The little horns are from the 1910s from a Black Forest hunting lodge.
The milk glass hands hold a doll’s hand, a tin type photograph, the head of a finch and a Civil War bullet. [right} A deer called Sherlock and an armadillo called Ishmael on an old school desk. The babies are celluloid from France.
