Walking through the middle of the day, St Leonards.
A weekend with new friends in St Leonards-on-sea.
1. Paul Newman and his kids
2. Grace Kelly photographs Sinatra with her Hasselblad
3. Paul McCartney
4. Bob Dylan with a Nikon SP Rangefinder
5. The Supremes with their Polaroid Land Cameras
6. George Harrison with aÂ Nikon F, a Kodak Retina IIS and a Rolleiflex
7. Queen Elizabeth with her Leica
8. Marilyn at the Chelsea Hotel
In the spring of 1934, an aspiring young writer hitchhiked to Florida to meet his idol.Â Hemingway offered advice, wrote the above list of reading recommendations and made an offer 22-year old Arnold Samuelson couldn’t refuse. No biggie.
This year. Valentine’s Day street style for Glamour,Â a week in Israel, a weekend in Madrid, San Diego to LA to Palm Springs to Joshua Tree to LA to San Diego with Californiaâ€™s warmest, most beautiful people, seven days at sea, a lovely wedding in Paris, my photo on the cover of Aniâ€™s book, long summer days in Amsterdam,Â London Fashion Week for Time Out, a hard month at home, a long walk along the cliffs and a beautiful last weekend in Lisbon.
We had lunch at a hotel that was straight out of a Brett Easton Ellis novel: clear perspex chairs, reflective black surfaces, a cold, misguided 90s sort of self assuredness. The waitresses even wore black underwear under their all-white uniforms. Maybe to remind us they’re still alive in there.
This was the view from where we sat. We looked at this and we ate lamb and we ate duck. We looked at this ocean. We looked at this palm tree. And maybe it was the wine, but everything felt wide open again.
When I think back over this shitty, paralysed year, I don’t want to think about how heavy everything was for a while. I want think about this. This view. This ocean. This palm tree. This mostly straight horizon that, as we sat on the train back to Lisbon, served up the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. A sky striped purple and orange, the perfect reminder that we’re all still alive in here.
A sort of sunset, Lisbon.
A fishing boat in Cascais, a tiny town just outside of Lisbon.
Barrio Alto, Lisbon.
On the bus from Birling Gap.
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The picture of the queen at the top of this blog was drawn for me by Irana Douer.
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