#shagreen coffee table

[rilayagifs]

Transitional Living Room - Living Room

Remodel ideas for a medium-sized transitional living room with white walls, a two-sided fireplace, and no television.

[introvertedthinking]

Enclosed - Living Room

An illustration of a traditional enclosed and formal living room design with beige walls and dark wood floors.

[korunia]

Living Room Formal Living room - large mediterranean formal and open concept medium tone wood floor living room idea with white walls, a standard fireplace, a concrete fireplace and no tv

[paige-wwe]

San Francisco Loft-Style Family room - small transitional loft-style dark wood floor family room idea with orange walls, no fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[elise-rosy-unicorn]

Transitional Living Room

Living room library - mid-sized transitional enclosed dark wood floor living room library idea with gray walls

[scherzyhamilton]

Great Room - Dining Room

[criticalbennifer]

How Jennifer Lopez Found Happily Ever After

By: Rob Haskell

November 8, 2022

On a disquietingly hot and windy October day at the outer edges of the San Fer­nando Valley, Jennifer Lopez—who has never been accused of lacking ambition—is saving the world. Not this world, though it surely also needs saving, but an imagined dystopia some century ahead in which robots, according to their frustrating custom, threaten the human race.

“To me, it’s a love story,” says Lopez, and she laughs.

She laughs because of course she would see it thus, because love is her big project in this world, her messy, public, decades-long, sometimes glamorous, sometimes treacherous, often thwarted project, the lens that when it comes down over her eyes can’t help but turn everything as pink as the six-carat diamond with which Ben Affleck proposed to her the first time, in 2002. But Atlas���the movie she is shooting today, part of a new deal between her film company, Nuyorican Productions, and Netflix—isn’t most people’s idea of a love story. In fact, it’s a straight-up sci-fi action thriller, in which Lopez plays a military intelligence analyst assigned to reconfigure a potentially lethal form of artificial intelligence. Though the costumery is more Mad Max than Wedding Planner, scholars of the Jennifer Lopez catalog will find in Atlas’s protagonist a familiar character: the headstrong careerist with little time for life’s mushier feelings until the right man (or droid) comes along.

“Closed off. Totally obsessed with her work. Dealing with a lot of pain and sadness from her childhood,” Lopez continues, making an explicit allusion to the porousness that has characterized the relationship between her life and her art over the last three decades. “She has to learn how to let him in so that they can be stronger together.”

We are sitting between takes in her tent on the soundstage, where great efforts have been made to create an oasis on a hectic, buzzing set. Her favorite candle flickers on a cream-colored faux-shagreen desk, and a black Hermès blanket is draped over the massage table. In the little living room, a marble chess set rests on a marble coffee table, and above it hangs a green neon sign whose soft cursive reads “Mrs. Affleck.” It was a gift from the crew.

Lopez, her hair matted, her neck and temple caked with fake blood, is surprised to learn that a few days after her marriage this July, The New York Times published an opinion piece expressing disappointment that at a moment when feminist ideals felt imperiled in America, Lopez had taken her husband’s name. (She shared this news, along with a few photos of the family jaunt to Vegas, in her free, subscription-based “On the JLo” newsletter, where her biggest fans get a not overly filtered but nevertheless highly curated monthly update about her life.)

“What? Really?” she asks. “People are still going to call me Jennifer Lopez. But my legal name will be Mrs. Affleck because we’re joined together. We’re husband and wife. I’m proud of that. I don’t think that’s a problem.” You mean there’s no part of you that might want Ben to be Mr. Lopez? She laughs. “No! It’s not traditional. It doesn’t have any romance to it. It feels like it’s a power move, you know what I mean? I’m very much in control of my own life and destiny and feel empowered as a woman and as a person. I can understand that people have their feelings about it, and that’s okay, too. But if you want to know how I feel about it, I just feel like it’s romantic. It still carries tradition and romance to me, and maybe I’m just that kind of girl.”

That Lopez has pursued love across four marriages, two broken engagements, and assorted misbegotten alliances over 25 years should be news to almost no one. Neither is the fact that her great romantic experiment has coincided with a relentless professional momentum, an enormously productive and still expanding career (more than 30 movies, eight studio albums, a dizzying array of branding endeavors), and now, at the age of 53, an untouchable aura that somehow contains glamour, grit, and goodness all at once. While it sometimes seems as if Beyoncé might live on a small, satin-upholstered space station, Lopez, despite her aura, has remained accessible, real, gears exposed, Jenny from the block and all that. Though she possesses an unusually deft touch with the press, dusting the trail with crumbs and remaining an object of extreme media fascination for a quarter century, Lopez has also built more walls around her over the years.

“In the beginning I was of the mind that I could say or do anything,” she recalls. “I was from the Bronx, and who didn’t say what they thought there?” Her early relationship with Affleck offered a cruel lesson, as the tabloid press denigrated her with racist and classist dog whistles; South Park parodied her viciously, and Conan O’Brien told his audience that the show’s “cleaning lady” would be playing Lopez in a sketch. “We were so young and so in love at that time, really very carefree, with no kids, no attachments. And we were just living our lives, being happy and out there. It didn’t feel like we needed to hide from anybody or be real discreet. We were just living out loud, and it turned out to really bite us. There was a lot underneath the surface there, people not wanting us to be together, people thinking I wasn’t the right person for him.” Over the ensuing years Lopez has seemed to gather a force field around her, as if weaponized against derisive scrutiny. “I became very guarded because I realized that they will fillet you. I really wish I could say more. I used to be like that. I am like that. But I’ve also learned.”

Lopez would like especially to say more about the journey back to Ben Affleck, which, really, has been a journey of self-discovery that began around 12 years ago, when she was newly separated from the singer-actor Marc Anthony and suddenly a single mother of twin babies. It was the professional and emotional low point of her career: A couple of albums had sputtered, and she no longer seemed to be getting the movie offers that had flowed in in previous years. Financially strained and somewhat aimless, in 2011 she accepted a job as a judge on American Idol, which, to her great surprise, reinvigorated her career. It turned out that the human touch was what her audience, and the industry, needed from her.

“It was like, Oh! That’s all I had to do this whole time was be myself? Although it was a competition, it was a reality show,” she explains, “and I had never done one. Up until then we only had what the media was telling you about me. I loved meeting the kids because I so identified with their dreams—I just loved it. There were a lot of things that people saw through that show, but more than anything I think they saw my heart, that I was a cool, funny person, that I was a nice person. No matter how many awards shows you do or late-night talk show couches you sit on, people feel like you’re putting something on. With a reality show, you can’t hide behind a script or a four-minute interview. You’re out there.”

At the same time, Lopez was privately beginning a process of self-reflection and self-improvement that emanated from the experience of motherhood. Motifs had emerged in her unsuccessful romantic relationships, which she felt ready to disrupt. “I just didn’t understand what it was to care for myself, to not put somebody else’s feelings and needs—and your need for them to love you—in front of taking care of yourself,” she says. “You turn yourself into a pretzel for people and think that that’s a noble thing, to put yourself second. And it’s not. Those patterns become deep patterns that you carry with you, and then at a certain point you go, Wait, this doesn’t feel good. Why am I never happy? I really felt that way for a long time. And finally I was just like, Ugh! It’s time to figure me out because I need to be good for these babies. And even from there, with all the willingness I had, it took years and years to really put the pieces together, like, Oh, this thing I do because of this, that thing I do because that happened to me at this age.”

Lopez grew up in the Castle Hill neighborhood of the Bronx, in what she describes as a typical working-class Puerto Rican household. Though her background has been overmined for clues to future greatness—the strict upbringing, church every Sunday, early exposure by her mother to musicals, an impressive high school athletic career—two details stand out. Guadalupe Rodríguez was a young mother, fun and performative but tough as nails and sometimes overwhelmed with her three daughters, not above resorting to corporal punishment with them, which Jennifer has tried to understand as the custom of the time and place. “We respected her, but we also feared her,” she recalls. “She did what she needed to keep us in line.” And David Lopez, her father, worked nights and wasn’t always available to his family. When they divorced, after 33 years of marriage, Jennifer recalls, it came as a shock, though perhaps it shouldn’t have.

Over the course of our discussions, Lopez alludes to encounters with self-help texts, meditation, psychotherapy, psychiatry, and life coaching. She appears to have attacked the project of working through her childhood trauma, and its present-​day reverberations in the form of unhealthy attachments, with the same intensity she has brought to her career pursuits. “My parents taught me the value of hard work and the importance of being a good person,” she explains. “But the combination of them was what I’ve had to figure out. It shaped what I liked as far as my personal life was concerned. Without infringing on their privacy, that was it: Who your mom is and who your dad is and how they love you and teach you to love become the positive and negative patterns that you have to overcome in life.”

Lopez and I meet for breakfast at the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel, at a table in the very back of the garden, in front of which a large potted privet creates the safety of vagueness. The restaurant is a sort of default meeting place for the residents of high-hedged neighboring enclaves such as Bel Air and Holmby Hills, and she arrives without security. Privacy is important to her, but it’s also important that people understand that she is not asking for anyone’s sympathy for the tariffs of fame. “The other day,” she recalls, “one of my kids said, ‘I want to go to the flea market.’ I was like, ‘Oh, you want me and Ben to come?’ They said, ‘You know, it’s such a thing when you go, Mom.’ It hurt my feelings. I get it. They want time with their friends when they aren’t being watched and followed and photographed. It’s a thing. Nobody’s complaining, but it’s a thing.”

She eats a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar, a popular Puerto Rican breakfast, as her mother made it, and drinks a decaf cappuccino (she gave up caffeine years ago). She wears a black denim jacket with the collar turned up, her hair is pulled into a tight bun, her skin is preternaturally youthful—​perhaps the twin effect of DNA and the olive oil–rich tinctures in her JLo Beauty line. (To answer a question that many people asked me after we met, yes. She is absolutely as beautiful in person.)

“I’m not one of these tortured artists,” Lopez says. “Yes, I’ve lived with tremendous sadness, like anybody else, many, many times in my life, and pain. But when I make my best music or my best art is when I’m happy and full and feel lots of love.” Such was the mood that surrounded the writing and recording of her forthcoming album, which will be her first in nearly a decade. I’m not allowed to reveal the title, but suffice it to say that it serves as a kind of bookend to This Is Me…Then, the album she released 20 years ago in the heady early days of her relationship with Affleck.

Lopez’s longtime manager, Benny Medina, told me that Lopez has a way of falling in love with whatever she is immersed in at the moment. While she has several films out in the coming months, including the rom-com-with-a-twist Shotgun Wedding this winter and The Mother, in which she stars as an ex-assassin, in the middle of next year, it is this album that pulls Lopez’s enthusiasm at the moment. She says that it will be the most honest work she has ever done, “kind of a culmination of who I am as a person and an artist. People think they know things about what happened to me along the way, the men I was with—but they really have no idea, and a lot of times they get it so wrong. There’s a part of me that was hiding a side of myself from everyone. And I feel like I’m at a place in my life, finally, where I have something to say about it.” She lends me her AirPods so that I can listen to a few rough cuts from the record. There are plaintive, confessional songs, reflections on the trials of her past, upbeat jams celebrating love and sex. As I’m listening, I notice that she has closed her eyes, and she is dancing in her chair and singing along to her own voice. For a moment it occurs to me that she might be treating me to a little performance, but no, she is just so into it.

You might say that Lopez has been in a kind zone since 2019–2020, the period that she regards as her career’s peak so far. She delivered a critically heralded performance in Hustlers, her most successful movie to date; she completed a 38-show, international concert tour, also her most successful to date; she walked the runway for Versace in a reincarnation of her iconic green jungle-print Grammys dress on the occasion of its 20th anniversary (and held her own, she thought, in a sea of 19-year-old models); she co-headlined the Super Bowl halftime show; and she turned 50. “It was like, fashion! movies! music! It was all coming together,” she recalls. She also felt emboldened to take a public political stand, adding a segment to her Super Bowl set in which Latinx children, among them her own child, Emme, sang her hit “Let’s Get Loud” from inside cages—a rebuke against the Trump administration’s injustices at the border. According to Lopez, the NFL initially wanted to cut the act from her program, but she held firm.

“Early in my career people would ask about politics, but I always felt like people didn’t really want to hear from an actor or somebody who sang pop songs,” she remembers. “Like a shut-up-and-dance kind of situation. I didn’t have the confidence, and I didn’t want to make a mistake. But you get to a point in your life where you realize, if something’s wrong, you say it. If you’re not doing something about it then you’re kind of complicit. Whether it was kids in cages, or kids getting shot in the street by police—all these things where it was just like, What the hell is going on around here? When did we lose our way? There were so many awful, ugly attitudes coming to light. It was really sad because it didn’t need to be political. It was about being a good person, loving your neighbor, all the things that people say they stand for but then they don’t practice because somebody’s not the same as them or somebody has a different sexual orientation or gender identity or a different race. It’s like, Really? You can’t just do you? You can’t just be you and be happy and let somebody else be happy too?”

She says the Affleck-Lopez home in Los Angeles is a place where this newly blended family (her 14-year-old twins, his three children from his marriage to Jennifer Garner, ranging in age from 10 to 17) is passionate and vocal about a range of political and social issues. “This generation is beautifully aware and involved and brave,” she says, “and they will call bullshit on stuff really quick. I want my kids to stand up for themselves and the things they care about. I want all the little girls in the world to get loud. Get loud! Say it when it’s wrong. Don’t be afraid. I was afraid for a long time: afraid to not get the job, to piss people off, afraid that people wouldn’t like me. No.”

Lopez’s intimates know that she has always held a candle for Affleck. Shortly after she and the retired baseball great Alex Rodriguez called off their engagement in early 2021, she got an email from the actor-director, who had just come out of a relationship with the actress Ana de Armas. A magazine had asked Affleck for a comment about Lopez, and he wanted her to know that he had provided a rave. They kept talking. They started visiting each other at home. “Obviously we weren’t trying to go out in public,” she explains. “But I never shied away from the fact that for me, I always felt like there was a real love there, a true love there. People in my life know that he was a very, very special person in my life. When we reconnected, those feelings for me were still very real.”

She says that she and Affleck are as stunned as anyone else to have managed to recapture an early, important love, and the fairy-tale ending-ness of it all continues to amuse them. (This is not to say that she is rolling her eyes. Lopez believes in the fairy tale. A plaque displayed at their wedding, held at Affleck’s home in Savannah, Georgia, this August, a month after they were legally married, read, Love always hopes and always perseveres.) “I don’t know that I recommend this for everybody,” she says. “Sometimes you outgrow each other, or you just grow differently. The two of us, we lost each other and found each other. Not to discredit anything in between that happened, because all those things were real too. All we’ve ever wanted was to kind of come to a place of peace in our lives where we really felt that type of love that you feel when you’re very young and wonder if you can have that again. Does it exist? Is it real? All those questions that I think everyone has. You go through all these relationships, and you’re searching and you’re connecting and you’re disconnecting with people, and you’re like, God, is this just what life is? Like a carousel, roller coaster, carnival ride? And then it settles. But the journey to that is the mystery for everybody.”

Though she did not use this word, my sense is that Lopez and Affleck are both in a kind of recovery, in their separate ways. Affleck has struggled with alcoholism for more than 20 years and more recently worked hard toward building a lasting sobriety. If Lopez has had a parallel compulsion, it is in the domain of love, and she has done her work, too. “I have to forgive myself for the things that I did that I’m not proud of, the choices that I made that worked against me,” she explains. “Self-love is really about boundaries. Learning what you’re comfortable with and putting up the boundaries, not being afraid of the consequences. Knowing that in taking care of yourself, everything will turn out okay, that people will treat you the way you want to be treated and your life will feel good to you. For a long time, I was just like, Yes, do whatever you want! I can take it, I’ll be here, because I’m really strong, and I’ll be fine. Little by little it chips away at your self-worth, your self-esteem, your soul.”

The couple has brought a lot of thought to the project of integrating their households, and they are learning about parenting from each other. Affleck’s ex-wife is, Lopez says, “an amazing co-parent, and they work really well together.” Lopez does not have the benefit of such a relationship with her ex-husband, who lives on the East Coast. “The transition is a process that needs to be handled with so much care,” she says. “They have so many feelings. They’re teens. But it’s going really well so far. What I hope to cultivate with our family is that his kids have a new ally in me and my kids have a new ally in him, someone who really loves and cares about them but can have a different perspective and help me see things that I can’t see with my kids because I’m so emotionally tied up.”

Of course, Lopez is raising children with a great deal more privilege than she enjoyed at their age, and she hopes that her own model for hard work goes some way toward keeping them grounded. “It’s hard, in its own way, when you don’t have to fight for things, because then you don’t learn how to be a fighter,” she says, boxing at the air with her fists. “I had to learn how to be a fighter. I wanted to give them a life that I didn’t have, but they don’t get to have the experience of something that is also helpful, which is developing that survivalist mentality.” She has made a point of stepping out of her mother’s shadow as a parent, trying not to raise her voice, keeping her temper, not matching her children when they rev up. “I really wanted to find a better way than having to put the fear in them. It’s like, I can hold a boundary with you but also be your ally. That’s the balance, where they respect you enough because you act in a way that they can look up to. It’s what I feel like I want to do because when I was young that wasn’t what it was.”

And yet Guadalupe Rodríguez worked hard to teach her daughters to be good as well as great. It’s a lesson Lopez is keen to pass on. “I’ll stress to them, like, I want you to do well in school,” she adds (her twins started high school this fall), “and then my son always finishes the sentence. He goes, ‘But you care more that we’re good people.’ I say, ‘That’s right. I do.’ The beauty of being a parent is that you think you’re going to teach them all these things, and you do. You pass on all the things that you know, all the knowledge you have. But at the end of the day they wind up teaching you so much and reminding you of the things you need to know about life and how to love somebody and how to care for people, that in your 20s and 30s, as you’re doing your own thing, you can lose sight of. We get so self-centered at certain points in our lives when we have our goals and our things.”

Affleck, for his part, is glad that his wife tolerates his singing in the shower. To him, the big draw all these years later was not the ways Lopez has changed but the ways she has not. “There is something innately, magically kind and good and full of love at the heart of who Jennifer is,” he explains. “That’s exactly the person I remember from 20 years ago. Maybe she sees all the changes she’s made, whereas when I see her, mostly I just see someone who has retained, against the odds, the thing about her that always made her the most incredible to me: a heart that seems boundless with love. She is my idea of the kind of person I want to be.”

Lopez has grand, multimedia plans for her current musical project. She wants to create a musical odyssey in the manner of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, she says—but with a message about hope and love. Perhaps the most poignant moment in Halftime, the documentary about her Super Bowl year released on Netflix last June, occurs when Lopez is reading out loud from an article about herself in Glamour. “It’s thrilling to see a criminally underrated performer”—here she pauses, and tears well in her eyes—“get her due from prestige film outlets.” In fact Lopez did not quite get her due, having been denied an Academy Award nomination, which some in the industry viewed as a snub. A Grammy continues to elude her, too. Despite her stardom, she has spent years fighting for credibility, and for all her artistic accomplishment, to some people she is, simply, Jennifer Lopez for a living. This hurts less than it once did.

“I’ve always felt like an outsider, in the fashion world, the music world, the movie world,” she explains. “I feel like everybody knows each other and all the artists talk, and you go to the Met ball and all the girls are hanging out together, and I’m not in that group. Maybe that’s just insecurity. It’s not because I’m antisocial or I don’t want to make friends. I’ve always been kind of a march-to-the-beat-of-my-own-drum, loner-type person. I’m like, I’ll just stay focused on my thing. I’ve always kind of felt like that. I still do. But I try! It used to be about the idea of validation in other people’s eyes. It really used to be. Because I wanted to be part of the club. But I don’t anymore. There’s something bigger that I’m after. It’s about touching people’s lives and being touched.”

Twenty years ago, in an era that has sometimes been referred to as Bennifer 1.0, Affleck gave Lopez the nickname “Little.” At six foot four, he is nearly a foot taller. When they reunited, he told her that he wasn’t sure if that old moniker still applied, that she seemed somehow too fully realized to be called “Little” even affectionately. But the pet name has returned, even as Lopez has come to seem like the dewy-skinned den mother of us all, a force for good on a sometimes dark planet. Growing up, getting there, has been her life’s work, on top of all that…work. “You come out the other side, and you’re better, you’re stronger, you’re good on your own,” she says. “But there’s a little piece of that former self that was totally open, innocent, and unafraid, that is gone. Sometimes I mourn that, because I’m such a romantic.” Her voice has softened to a whisper. “And because I loved that person so much.

“My whole life, my whole music career was just about love: every movie I picked, every album I made. Even though I’m super proud of who I am today, and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing—and I can finally say that, as a human being, as a woman, as a partner, as a wife, as a coworker, as a mother and stepmom—there’s just that little piece where you feel like, That old me? She was sweet.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Designer Glenn’s Brooklyn, New York duplex is a sophisticated repository of art and antiques. French Art Deco armchairs, faux shagreen (horse skin) coffee tables and framed art matted in white provide a pale contrast to walls the color of bitter chocolate. The yellow artwork is by the well-known American artist Donald Baechler.

The elegant kitchen serves as the apartment’s de facto entry hall, with glossy dark green cabinetry, expanses of mirror glass and granite countertops.

He designed the chandelier that hangs above a 1950s dining table. A Le Corbusier work on paper to the left of the fireplace is balanced by one on the right by American abstract expressionist Seymour Lipton.

Metal and glass sculptures from the 1970s add intrigue to the mantelpiece, which is original to the building.

Glenn sits on an Irish Queen Anne chair from the 18th century under the eaves.

A century separates the circa 1820 English hall chair and the white American art pottery vase, above. The framed drawing that dominates the vignette is a 1958 work by American artist Sonia Gechtoff.

With its imposing wall of books, the downstairs sitting area doubles as a library.

Beamed ceilings and dark walls in the bedroom make it feel like a cozy nest, brightened by the white artwork and table lamps.

The 300-square-foot terrace extends the living space three seasons a year.

https://www.brownstoner.com/interiors-renovation/interior-design-ideas-brooklyn-glenn-gissler-brooklyn-heights/

[skoolboyjew]

Modern Coffee Tables

Coffee table, initially of its kind emerged in article WWI. Back then, the contemporary coffee table was often a part of, but never starring in, a homemaker's dream bundle. It formed a significant part of the collection of furnishings cost Sears or Eaton, yet comfortably failed to remember, primarily due to the fact that the larger characters of couches and also chairs, as well as their consequent pillows and also throws, have forced the contemporary coffee table to stay in entry. However none longer.

For that contemporary feel that just an authentic modern-day coffee table can provide, you have several alternatives: cubes or cylinders made of wood, leather, Plexiglass, or steel; stone, porcelains, woven raffia, shagreen, or nylon. You might also take into consideration eclectic shapes like an amoeba-shaped table reminiscent of the 1949 Noguchi standard. A moving coffee table might also be a great choice, doubling up as an end table or a bar cart. Interior decoation The modern coffee table is back with a vengeance. And this time, its style potential has made it a star in its very own right. What living room would be full without the appropriate enhance of a modern coffee table? Nevertheless, there are a couple of considerations included when it concerns choosing the right modern coffee table, consisting of style, range, shape, and capability. When selecting contemporary coffee tables, you take into consideration not only the style of the table itself but the design of a lot of its surrounding home furnishings. It should be born in mind that the modern coffee table is not suggested to stand out however to blend in with the rest of the home furnishings to develop an unified home in your residence. Hence, if the area is made in the typical method with a conventional sofa, after that a contemporary coffee table with a standard layout of oblong or rectangle-shaped form is fit. You may choose one that is made of wood yet make sure to collaborate this with the other wood furnishings in the area. Additionally, you may likewise feature a glass table top surrounded by brass, bronze or a gilded framework.

You might intend to think about an upholstered ottoman with tufts as this serves two functions: actins as seating in addition to a table top. If you like antique things, there aren't any type of antique coffee tables about, yet you may style one from antique elements, like a wrought iron gate, sculpted front door, or old wood boards. You have to main worries when it involves interior designing a modern coffee table with the rest of the space: Do you let the contemporary coffee table stand on its very own? Or do you utilise it as an area on which you can present fascinating vignettes? In either case, the choice is totally yours.

[gardencourtsf]

Karl Springer Banker's Coffee Table Covered In Cream Colored Shagreen, Circa 1980's

Karl Springer Banker's Coffee Table Covered In Cream Colored Shagreen, Circa 1980's #karlspringer #coffeetable #shagreen #1980s, #midcentury #gardencourt #sanfrancisco

A Karl Springer Banker’s coffee table covered in cream colored shagreen circa 1980’s [1. Mr. Springer worked with many materials — often exotic ones — to translate pure, classical shapes into contemporary, custom-made furniture, light fixtures or Venetian-glass objects. He was the president and sole owner of Karl Springer Ltd., with showrooms in New York, Los Angeles and Tokyo and additional…

[superbpeachponystudent]

MILLION DOLLAR HOME HACKS for PEOPLE ON A BUDGET |

New Post has been published on https://interior.todayshoppinginfo.com/million-dollar-home-hacks-for-people-on-a-budget/

MILLION DOLLAR HOME HACKS for PEOPLE ON A BUDGET |

We don’t all have million dollar budgets, but that shouldn’t stop us from having gorgeous spaces that we can’t wait to come home to! This week I’m sharing my tried and true stylng hacks that I have used many times, but showing you through our recent room makeover… because seeing it is believing it!

Hit the subscribe button so you don’t miss out on all the upcoming room makeovers and tours!

Find HOV on Instagram! https://tinyurl.com/y7dvvr95 Find Valentina on Instagram! https://tinyurl.com/y7dvvr95 Find Valentina on Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/ValentinaFussell/boards/ Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/inspiredbyv

The recent Room Makeover: https://youtu.be/Ib4qmHl87NU

Shop our favorites below! Rug: https://bit.ly/39hYEuS Chair: https://bit.ly/39fPI9w Dresser: https://bit.ly/3tZc3QF Lamp: https://bit.ly/3w9HPwe Side Table: https://bit.ly/3dbhNA5 Gray Bench: https://bit.ly/3w1KRCH

MORE FAVORITES: TUFT & NEEDLE MATTRESS: https://rstyle.me/+GTNmTgHPnV9ZcCtmOMyPow TUFT & NEEDLE LINENS: https://rstyle.me/+J0UfEI53g_I_N5ec-r2dnw

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[shackleyjackson673]

Shagreen Coffee Table

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Rectangle Grey Glossy Shagreen Decorative Ottoman Coffee Table

Rectangle Grey Glossy Shagreen Decorative Ottoman Coffee Table

Dimension: Rectangle 18x12x2″ (L x W x H) Precise Measurements 45x30x5cm, Border Thickness 5MM Trendy Glossy Shagreen Print Fake Leather-based With Sturdy Constructed In Polished 201 Stainless Metal Gold Handles For Simple Serving Decorative Tabletop Organizational Accent Tray For Dwelling Room, Eating Room, Kitchen, Ottoman, Coffee Table, Rest room, Self-importance, Desk, Workplace. Nice For…

[nothingofvaluewaslost]

STORY: The Silhouette Pine

A short story. After her grandmother’s death, Jennifer is distraught at the thought of the house she remembers from happy childhood holidays being sold. However, when she tries to convince her mother to hand the house to Jennifer and her boyfriend, she stumbles upon something much darker from her past.

Not horror (or anything supernatural), but quite dark.

As usual, if you enjoyed it, feel free to check out my Patreon.

The Silhouette Pine

By Christina Nordlander

By the time they got back from the funeral buffet, it had started drizzling. Mum parked behind grandma's pale yellow VW. Jennifer looked out at the back window and saw only the reflection of their bonnet. She and Joakim had been in the back seat when grandma drove them into the city. If she focused she would feel the smell of tobacco smoke and leather, so old it had become something concrete and grainy.

She got out and hurried her steps to be close to mum in case she needed someone to support her. It wasn't necessary, and dad was next to her. Mum walked with her head a bit bowed, but there was nothing weak in the outline of her face.

Joakim had run ahead up the garden steps, two sets of steps with a flagged landing in the middle where Jennifer had slipped and busted her lip one winter. She couldn't remember the pain, just that uncle Gunnar had joked with dad that she'd been in a fight and that they should have seen the other guy.

Grandma had come to the door and hugged her every time they'd gone here: shorter than herself the last few years, with woollen scarves in warm colours around her shoulders when it was the least bit cold, perfumed with a stronger version of the scent that was diffused through the house. (Mum was still going to have to feel it, though the body that had walked around in its centre was gone.) It was too easy to deal with when it was a relative you'd only met on the holidays. She'd been old and it had been quick. The last time Jennifer had met her, last Easter, she'd been happy. She'd asked how the dissertation was coming along. Jennifer hadn't brought her notes, but she'd talked about viruses and horizontal gene transfer like an enthusiastic little kid showing off a shell collection, and grandma had said that she was doing well.

*

There was nothing special about the size or architecture of the house, though the basement had been exciting when she was little: it was a largish terraced house, single storey, with a flat black tin roof and a little atrium covered with a wooden deck. The price was probably mainly due to the location, close to Djursholm with its fenced harbours on Framnäs Bay.

She got her chance when she went to make some tea. Mum was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper in a circle of light. Outside the windows was nothing but blackness.

“You want a cup of tea?” Jennifer said.

“That's nice of you, honey. Lapsang, please.”

Grandma hadn't had an electric kettle. She poured water in the smallest pan and waited for it to boil. It was soothing, standing in the light and watching the bubbles starting to form on the reflecting bottom.

“You sure I can't have the house?” she said while they waited. “That way, it'll stay in the family. It's about the right size for Bayram and me, and I wouldn't have to stay with his family any more.”

Mum sighed.

“It's not that simple,” she said without looking at her. “We can't just give the house away. It would have to be taken up with mother's attorney. Besides, you wouldn't be able to pay the tax on a house like this. The two of you don't even have jobs.”

When Jennifer didn't say anything she went on:

“You can always go and check if there are any books you'd like. All that stuff we’re allowed to take, movable assets.”

It was enough. Perhaps she should have asked more, to find out whether there was a loophole. Bayram would have liked to live here, he'd barely been to Stockholm. They could have continued studying up here.

The water had started bubbling. She put the teacup by mum's elbow and took her own into the living-room.

When she was little, it had used to confuse her that grandma's house had two living-rooms: the small one with the TV – dad and Joakim were in there now watching something with mum's siblings – and the long room that took up the better part of the house. Now she could think of it as a library. One wall was covered in books, soft leather spines with deep gold print. Across the room was a French window on the atrium, lit beneath the clear black sky.

Of course she shouldn't have brought it up with mum today. She hadn't had much of a choice; in two days they were going home. They were selling the house. If one of mum's relatives had wanted to keep it she would have understood.

It wasn't the wealthy suburb. It wasn't the ornaments that grandma had moved out of reach for her and Joakim when they were too small to trust their strong flabby hands: vases in ribbed grey-green celadon, porcelain shepherdesses trimmed with lace so fine you might think it was fabric until you touched it. Over there, on the little sewing table by the atrium door, there had been a box with a surface that looked like a mosaic of sliced pearls, but grandma had said that it was made of shagreen, sharkskin. The box wasn't there now. Gunnar or Ulla must already have packed it.

She wouldn't have asked to keep any of the ornaments. Not even the books, though they would have been harder to say no to: a collection of La Fontaine's fables with Classicist copperplates, a Mucha catalogue, a book with colour reproductions of William Blake's art that had given her nightmares when she was a kid. She put the cup on the coffee table, took out the Blake book and sat down on the puffy plush couch where she'd used to sit and read when they came here, maybe with a bag of travel candy next to her. Was that the one she should pick? After the conversation she hardly wanted to take anything, but should she lose the things she had a right to because she felt ashamed?

When mum walked past towards the TV room, Jennifer looked up.

“You know, you're coping well,” she said. “I wish I were as tough as you.”

Mum lit up, faintly.

“I wouldn't say it's strength, Jennifer honey,” she said. “I've had a lot of time to prepare.”

She went in there herself later, because the room was lit and warm with people, with Joakim leaning on his elbows on the carpet.

She sat at the left end of the couch, closest to the window, and her gaze slipped outside and across the road. On the other side of the lampposts lay the forest. It was a block of darkness against the paler sky, but one higher pine leant sideways from some storm, before she was born. It was the sigil of grandma's house. Nowhere else did the forest have the same outline.

*

The next afternoon she went for a walk. It was November, raw and wet rather than cold. They'd used to go here for the Christmas and February breaks when the cold scorched, and dad had made a fire when she and Joakim came back from sledging. She'd sat in front of it, her back to the darkness in the window.

She tried walking as far as she could in the direction of Stockholm proper, but of course she hadn't got far before darkness fell and she had to turn back to be on time for supper.

On the way home she looked for the pine on the forest edge and found it after a while. She put her hand on the deeply ridged bark that had grown chilly like metal. When she looked across the road, all the windows were lit in yellow.

She had a quick immature impulse to stay here by the foot of the pine until she froze to death or they let her stay. It was too melodramatic, for the sake of a house.

*

Dad had impressed them with chicken Kiev and panna cotta for dessert, and it was her turn to wash up. Mum stayed next to her to dry the crystal glasses. It wasn't much past six o'clock, but it was winter, already night. Tomorrow she would wake in the room with the sofa-bed for the last time.

“I guess there's still no chance.”

She tried to make her voice jocular, but it just sounded high-pitched. Mum's profile was hidden by a band of dark hair while she dried the last glass.

“No, I don't see why you think you have a right to it, after what you did to your brother.”

It was too absurd. Jennifer couldn't get angry.

“What do you mean? What did I do to Joakim?”

She'd already started searching for memories: when she'd told on him for calling a classmate something foul, when she ran off while he was babysitting her and dad had given him a telling-off. None of that merited mum's tone.

“It wasn't Joakim,” mum said.

Her voice was so choked, Jennifer could barely make out the words.

“What do you mean, then?”

Perhaps she shouldn't have insisted, not when someone's voice sounded like that.

“No, Jennifer,” mum said, “don't you worry about that. I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Seriously, I didn't mean to... Forget the house, of course I don't need a house, but what do you mean about my brother?”

“I said I shouldn't have said anything!”

Mum's voice tore on the last words. She hurried out of the kitchen, a bit crouched.

She needed to finish washing up. There were a lot of dishes, they'd been seven. After a few minutes, the work and the repetitive motions had returned her to some state of calm.

While she was rinsing out the sink she heard footsteps in the door. She turned her head and managed a smile, in case it was mum, but it was dad coming to top up his beer. He grinned.

“Thanks, Jennifer. You do a good job.”

When she asked, it sounded abrupt.

Dad's shoulders sagged.

“For starters, I want you to know that it wasn't your fault,” he began. “You were just a little kid.”

*

She’d known that she'd had a brother who'd died in childhood. He'd never been more than a name and brown hair on some pictures in the photo album. For a while in primary school she'd been afraid of telling people about him, because then they would find out that she didn't feel anything.

If it had happened a year later, she might have remembered. She could remember things from when she was five.

It had happened in another set of garden stairs, in the old terraced house they had moved out of afterwards. It hadn't even been in the winter, slippery with ice. She'd been four years old, Alvar two. Joakim had been in his room or out playing, he wasn't in the story. Alvar hadn't dared to walk down the stairs, so she'd held his hands and walked behind and over him like a sensible older sister.

Perhaps she'd told him he wasn't allowed to walk down the stairs by himself.

They'd come running out when they heard her screaming. She'd sat crying on the stairs and at first they'd thought she was the one who had fallen.

Quick blinks of sunlight. When he tripped, his little hand slipped in hers and she didn't dare to grab it in case she tore his shoulder joint. Or was that the twenty-one-year-old Jennifer trying to reconstruct it? She thought she could remember the sun and the tarmac below the steps, but nothing else.

“We called the hospital,” Dad said, shrugging. “He hung on for a few days, but there wasn't a lot they could do.”

Her breath had become loud in her ears. She looked down at her hands. They were a grown woman's hands, probably with some scars she hadn't had then, but it was the same flesh, the same skeleton.

“I didn't know,” she said at last.

Dad nodded his heavy head.

“It wasn't right of Yvonne to tell you,” he said. “Especially like that. You can't be held responsible.”

He supported himself on the tabletop, standing up. Jennifer looked up.

“Is it OK if I have a glass of wine?”

It was one of the few times she'd had a drink – the first time she'd drunk for intoxication. The wine had an acrid fruity flavour that clung to her teeth. She took several quick gulps, because otherwise she might smell blood in her nasal cavity.

She hadn't known Alvar. She didn't remember, and yet it had been she. The moment she thought she would make it, that she would be fine, she remembered a birthday card that Joakim had sent while he was studying in Lund. It had said To the best sister.

She took another gulp. It was intended as an anaesthetic, but they only had that one bottle of dark wine. She hadn't felt anything yet, except that emotions became harder to resist. If this went on, she would be too weak to cope.

By the time she put the glass on the sink she couldn't feel any effect on her senses. She went into the bedroom and took her coat and hat. Everything around her was warm and cocooned. Her skin sucked up the warmth, and yet she didn't stay. The debit card lay stiff in her coat pocket. When she zipped up the coat, she smelled the soap from grandma's bathroom on her hands.

She walked down the steps in the orange light of the lamp on the garage wall. It wasn't raining, but the asphalt was glittering wet.

There was a bus-stop further up Svalnäs Allé. She glanced up at the timetable: a little under fifteen minutes to go. That was almost too much, but the coat was warm and she could pull her hands into the sleeves. She'd read once that alcohol thinned the blood and made it easier to freeze to death. She wouldn't die as long as she was standing up.

The wine had made all perceptions slower. Perhaps you died because you didn't care as much about the cold. It was going to get colder. Sweden was spinning towards the heart of February, with dry paving-stones and a cold that made you pant and forced you to the ground like some religious visitation.

Perhaps they'd heard when she opened the front door, but nobody came for her. Across the road the windows shone yellow, the light that meant home.

The bus braked and lowered itself with a sighing noise. The heat was wondrous on her skin when she got in, like sitting in front of a fire. The bus set itself rolling, towards the city, and she left them.

THE END

[modernfurnituredesign]

5 Contemporary Coffee Tables You’ll Love to Have for Your Modern Home

When people move into a new home, they enter the premise with new dreams. One of them is to decorate the interior of the house with furniture that best complements the style and the feel of the space.

An iconic coffee table is something that a well-furnished home should never lack. Homeowners often think about buying modern living room coffee tables that would fit their budget and at the same time, make the house look aesthetic.

This blog will help engage readers with the details of vintage as well as contemporary coffee tables that would make any guest compliment them on their home decor skills.

Theodore Alexander Classical Gathering Cocktail Table

If archaic is classy, then this coffee table will stand out in your living room. It can complement other vintage furniture in your old home, or become a symbolic object to look at in your new apartment.

This exquisite coffee table is made up of mahogany wood. It has expensive flame veneer cuts on it, giving it a regal look. The top is a square-shaped polished cut, and the front has chests of drawers with intricate paterae decorations.

The four legs of this enchanting coffee table are made of brass and resemble a flute. These are attached to the concave of the coffee table.

This antique looking contemporary coffee table costs $7518.

Theodore Alexander Brigham Cocktail Table

For a slightly inexpensive modern living room coffee table with the same look and feel, one must behold this table.

Priced at just a thousand dollars this elegant table stands with poise in the corner of your room. The maze-like stainless-steel legs of this table give it the perfect balance and a sleek look. The tabletop is wrapped in a circular, high-quality leather that never stains or wrinkles.

This cocktail table is suitable for studio apartments. Anyone having a small living space but looking for a fancy contemporary coffee table can buy this.

Theodore Alexander Fisher Round Cocktail Table

A coffee table that suits the needs of young men and women living in small apartments is the one you are reading about. It is luxury at an unbelievable price of just $1036.

It has stepped edges and a circular tabletop wrapped in shagreen leather. The legs are attached and shaped in a trigonal geometry. They are made of brass and have a shiny polished surface making it look sovereign.

This coffee table can be a gift to yourself or your close ones who appreciate the beauty of ornate furniture.

Theodore Alexander Merton Cocktail Table

This coffee table in your house will bring back the royalty and sovereignty of kings and queens from yesteryears. If you have a big living room, get ready to feel like you are in a place.

In walnut-brown colour, this piece of magnificence can be your best buy of a modern living room coffee table at $1600. This triple line strung cocktail table bewitches the spectators with its ebony glare, ebonized banding, the cartouche top which beautifies the veneered frieze.

The reeded tapering legs can aptly support the rectangular piece of art pretty well.

Theodore Alexander Claiborne Cocktail Table

Another mid-range modern contemporary coffee table is the Claiborne Cocktail Table.

This table will give a country house vibe to your living room. It feels like the bark of a giant oak tree that has been cut out to make this outstanding coffee table. It is pretty rare to find an oak heartwood coffee table, with a circular top, cobbed finish, and a recessed base.

Welcome this 20th-century European style coffee table to your home and boast about your buy.

EndNote

There are many impressive and attractive living room coffee tables to choose from, but the finest ones are mentioned here for your ease. So, which one are you planning to buy?

[chasschu]

Shagreen 2 Piece Coffee Table Set https://ift.tt/35jxikd