Once again, I was squandering away a perfectly good hour of sleep when I stumbled, falling completely in love with the designer Josef Frank, by the kitschy beauty of his supernatural textiles on display at Stockholm’s Svenskt Tenn. I was ready to pack a few days worth of clothes with my toothbrush and board the next flight to Stockholm before realizing that:
a. not only was he, to my disappointment, already dead, but that
b. my youngest child was sitting up in the bed, screaming for me to pick him up.
His designs seduced me as Feodor Rojankovsky’s illustrations first did, when I was a very young girl, in the pages of John Langstaff’s Frog Went A Courtin’ and Over in the Meadow.
