Tweed Dreams
On a recent gorgeous afternoon, I found myself quite surrounded by the colors of autumn. The trees, yes, but also the herringboned and flannelled prints of hipsters young and old who’d assembled for the Dandies and Quaintrelle's 2011 Tweed Ride. D&Q, "a Washington, DC based social group, organizes and hosts vintage-inspired, stylish events in partnership with and in support of noble causes...[and] is founded on the ideals of refined style and purposeful living."
I felt as though I’d stumbled onto a movie set for Bonnie and Clyde, milling about through the cast of extras dressed to the nines in asymmetric hats and seamed stockings or leather braces and rakishly angled fedoras.
Newsboys in flat caps and knickerbockers flirted with dames in argyle sweaters and wool pencil skirts. There wasn’t an expression of tweed left uninterpreted.
After mingling and admiring in the park, a dashing chap rang a sturdy handbell and off we went (all 800 or so of us) on a leisurely bicycle ride through the streets of Washington, D.C., inspiring stares and horn beeping of the fondest order.
Route marshals, holding “thank you” signs to appease the traffic, waved us through intersections and on past the White House.
As part of this cast from the past, you can pedal your tweed-adorned self from Meridian Hill Park to Eastern Market, pausing only to make sure your cameo pin is still secure and to steal a quick sip from your hipflask.
Make a sport of hunting for cloche hats or Oxford shoes at your favorite thrift stores and stock up for next year’s gathering. Or, if you can’t wait for next fall, aim for the equally well-dressed Seersucker Social come spring.
Christmas at the White House
I try to be friends with people who do good things. One of my best friends volunteers good works for the POTUS and if you’re not sure who that is, read on.
A ferociously windy Monday found me next to her in line for a free tour of the White House. Now, mind you, all the White House tours are free, but, if you’re clever, you arrange a visit months in advance and, if you’re lucky, there is space for your party to gain admittance on your hoped for date. Harder to engineer, maybe, than tickets to David Letterman or Oprah: a bit of tricky timing.
I hadn’t been clever, but, thanks to my friend, I was sure lucky.
It was Volunteer Day (and---here’s the lucky part---one guest each!) No one noticed that I hadn’t done a thing to help (but vote for the current resident) and in we went to ogle the lavishly decorated mansion.
From the elegant wreaths of fruit that framed the views of the Jackie Kennedy Garden to the white chocolate model of the house we walked through, it was festive and impressive: grand, but also cozy---the quintessential American home.
I did see some great presidents (like Abe) but not the current POTUS. Hmm, maybe I’d better sign up to volunteer.
“Congenial Spirits” at the Phillips Collection
As we wandered through the Phillips last week, my friend Gail found a painting that inspired her to linger, sat on a nearby bench and said with a sigh, “I wish I had been friends with Duncan Phillips.” I understood completely. I think we both almost felt we did know him after spending an afternoon roaming through the opulent rooms of his old mansion at 21st and Q Streets in Washington D.C. looking at his collection of art.
Duncan Phillips founded the museum in 1921 as a way to pay tribute to his father and brother who died in 1917 and 1918 respectively. His brother had shared an avid interest in modern art and, together, with an allowance from their parents for the purpose, they had accumulated a stunning collection of works. After Duncan married, he and his wife Marjorie continued acquiring pieces that inspired them. In 1923, Phillips purchased Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party, only one of the many masterpieces gracing the walls today in the permanent exhibit.
Around every corner is a treasure: Matisse, de Kooning, Rothko, O’Keeffe, van Gogh, or the small room filled with The Migration Series by Jacob Lawrence.
The spaces are enchanting: lovely fireplaces, gorgeous banisters, and the grand and sumptuously paneled mahogany drawing room---the piece de resistance of the original house.
We strolled further, enjoying the equally pleasant, yet sleeker and modern, Goh Annex, which, together with another building added in 2006, doubled the size of the original exhibit area.
This excerpt from their website explains the appeal of this engaging museum:
At the Phillips, works of art are hung in diverse groupings, which are meant to suggest visual "conversations" among the works in the viewer's eye and mind. "My arrangements are for the purpose of contrast and analogy," Duncan Phillips once explained. "I bring together congenial spirits among the artists from different parts of the world and from different periods of time."
As in any gathering, the conversational groups shift over time, with regular changes in the choice of works on display and their placement within the museum. Since galleries at the Phillips are not organized by categories or time periods, there is no specified order in which to see them. Instead, visitors wander freely, savoring the contrasts and correspondences among the "congenial spirits" in each room.
The spirit of the place, the feeling of getting (or wanting) to know Duncan Phillips, and the dialogue between the paintings all play a part in the intimacy of this exquisite gallery---America's first museum of modern art.
A Room of One’s Own
A family friend invited me to lunch yesterday. We met at the National Museum of Women in the Arts on New York Avenue in Washington, DC. I had been planning on visiting interesting spots in my area since returning from our world travels, but had spent most (ok, all) of the summer venturing no further than Downtown Silver Spring. An outing requiring the use of Metro and a map seemed just the thing to inaugurate my new resolution.
The NMWA is a grand building just two blocks north of the 13th Street exit from Metro Center. A helpful red-vest-wearing DC guide was waiting near the top of the Metro escalator to help lost or lost-looking visitors. I always look a bit lost, so he stopped me to offer directions.
After a pleasant 5 minute walk under my fuschia umbrella, I found the entrance and my waiting friend. The interior is lavishly appointed with chandeliers, symmetrical sweeping staircases, an ornate ceiling, and rose-colored marble floors conjuring up images of Cinderella’s ball.
The National Arboretum: D.C.’s Secret Garden
You may have lived for decades somewhere in or near Washington DC and never strolled some of the 450 verdant acres that make up the U.S. National Arboretum, the largest green space in the District and one of the world’s loveliest gardens. I only had some vague idea about where it was and, in fact, I would describe it as a good bit off the beaten track. Whether a tourist or a resident (or both!), you would be unlikely to stumble across it. You really have to mean to find it.
Smack dab on ugly New York Avenue is the main entrance to a wooded wonderland of trees, flowering shrubs, and gardens. Find fern valleys, conifer forests, and a childrens’ garden. Clip-clop across arched bridges, take a break under a spreading evergreen on a gnarled wood bench, hear your own breathing against the babble of a creek.
Walk meandering pathways and forget that you are not miles from traffic and pollution---even though a certain walk leads to the edge of the dismally sad Anacostia carrying a flotilla of discarded water bottles and dirty flotsam. Even beside the neglected river, you have two very different views, depending on which way you face. One is this:
But the other is this:
