Post-Apocalyptic mutual admiration

We had a lovely time on Sunday evening, drinking champagne with two good friends - one of whom we'd never even met.

We'd met the other one, Rolfe, when he gave us a personal tour of one the penthouses that was part of 2009's Street of Dreams. He was one of the designers and had chosen a painting of mine as part of the decor. The apartment was wonderful; the response of color to the natural light was especially beautiful. I was so happy to have my work included in it, and Rolfe was charming and really very sweet to us, showing us around. After seeing his work and having some idea of his "eye", it didn't come as too much of a surprise that the house he and his husband, Stephen, assembled is amazing. I say "assembled" because that's really what it is: a rich blending of texture and patina, disparate, often salvaged, objects brought together and communicating in unexpected ways. Constantly evolving. Subtle and droll and very beautiful.

Just this year I started following Stephen's blog, Post Apocalyptic Bohemian. I can't actually recall how I found my way to it. But I've found it addictive. It's just my kind of thing: A blend of the very personal and social/historical commentary. And there's a lot of "born on this day in gay history", which I really love. I'm certainly no slouch in the history department, but Stephen always finds fascinating people to write about that are either new to me, or ones that he gives a new depth to. And often a lot of the enjoyment comes merely from knowing there are people out there in our silly, crude world who respond to and honor those things that are perhaps deeper and richer and more beautiful, the way Stephen does. And by writing about them, he's a sort of guardian, doing what he can so that the world doesn't forget. Doesn't forget our particular history, doesn't forget the artists who've given the world so much. And in a very real way, I believe that the way that Rolfe and Stephen live their lives, and the beauty they make and share as they go along, continues the line. Their example is so important to the nurturing and preservation of these often intangible things. Things that aren't any more than memory and sensibility and inspiration but that are, I believe, completely necessary to the health of our world.

Their house is relatively small and, even though their garden is, too, they've made a nice little paradise in the back. Perfectly chosen shrubs and flowers surround "the boy's fort", a continually evolving fair-weather nest, made of salvaged doors and shutters and old window frames. When we visited - last Sunday evening was lovely and warm - we sat out there and drank champagne. When we were leaving, Stephen grabbed some shears and cut exactly five stems of various things in the garden. The picture at the top of the page is those five in a vase - they arranged themselves - just the simplest, most elegant thing....