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Issue â„– 19 SPRING 2015 $12.00 U.S.

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Contents Spring 2015




HAPPY DAYS 26 In Miami, a mix of bold colors and patterns reflects the vibrant lives of its creative occupants.

READY, SET, GO 36 With this menu that’s designed for portability, you’re sure to impress at the next picnic, potluck, or barbecue.

WOVEN IN TIME 74 Using fibers that are domestically farmed and spun, a Bay Area artisan handweaves exceptional cloth.

AN INSIDER’S ISTANBUL 42 Blending east and west, ancient and modern, the Turkish city is a compelling study in contrasts.

REFRESHING STYLE 52 The founder of an L.A.-based juice company reinvents her home in the Venice neighborhood.

THE GRASS IS GREENER 81 A floral designer and entrepreneur shares the trials and triumphs of operating a 107-acre farm in upstate New York.

THE PLEASURE PRINCIPLE 84 Situated between the beach and the jungle, a dwelling in Mexico embraces the great outdoors.

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES 60 A Canadian designer’s compound serves as both a bucolic retreat and a laboratory of sorts for her work.

PRIDE OF PLACE 94 Relying on his keen eye and eclectically acquired pieces, a Brooklyn designer puts his stamp on an old house.

A NEW WAVE 68 A couple of architects in Amsterdam designed a modern, aquatic residence for their young family.

RUSTIC COMFORT 102 A family shares the charms—and challenges—of farmhouse living in Northern California.









CONVERSATION David Hernandez & Tereasa Surratt SCREEN PLAY RESOURCES Cover Photograph by CLAUDIA URIBE

Cover Styling by MARCIA RIGONATI










OUTWARD BOUND 112 An L.A. chef and restaurateur opens her home to friends for a laid-back alfresco gathering.






This page and opposite, clockwise from left: David

Stark relaxes at the Miami condo that he shares with Migguel Anggelo. The vignettes that adorn a corner were part of a couple of pop-up projects; the stainless-steel cabinet was designed by David. The kitchen is anchored by an island topped with an assortment of papier-mâchÊ sculptures and fresh produce; bold yellow paint and a geometric wallpaper further enliven the room.




or designer David Stark, founder of the eponymous New York–based event planning and design firm (, the inspiration for his 1,900-square-foot condominium in Miami centered around a leftover design element from a previous project: Marimekko’s Rocchi Lokki, a green-andwhite fabric with a wave motif. “Flowy white drapes such as the ones at the Delano Hotel have become a decorative cliché here in Miami, so I wanted to do the exact opposite and use something that was very highly patterned,” he says. David continues: “I didn’t have enough of the fabric, so I splurged. It was out of circulation and Marimekko ended up printing more of it. The rest of the design was kind of reactive to having so much activity on the drapes. For this home, I wanted it to be colorful and happy and not too precious. It was really about layering color and pattern and bringing the sunshine indoors.”




AN INSIDER’S ISTANBUL Turkey’s largest city is a place of contrasts— ancient and modern, artistic and political



This page: Karabatak

offers coffee along with an extensive collection of magazines. Previous page: Turk-

ish bath Kiliç Ali Pasa Hamam. Opposite, clockwise from top left: Fresh-squeezed

juice vendors dot the streets. Turkish döner. Chef Beril Sanal of Noi ¸ restaurant (formerly Backyard). Dolmabahçe Palace. An alley off ˙ of Istiklal is set up for alfresco dining. Ferries and boat tours on the Bosphorus offer stunning views. Mama Shelter’s rooftop. A waiter takes a break outside of StarCays. Arasta Bazaar.


rom a ferry, it is possible to survey Istanbul from the waters that connect Europe to Asia, and both continents to the rest of the world. Though it is a sprawling, gritty, cosmopolitan city, Istanbul remains close to both open water and open air. Its 15th-century skyline, marked by the Middle Eastern geometry of domes and minarets, starts on the hill where the Topkapı Palace guards the confluence of the Bosphorus Strait, the Sea of Marmara, and the Golden Horn. From there, the strait flows north, busy with the submarines, tug boats, freighters, and the shoals of fish around whose daily migrations the city was anciently settled. After that, it disappears behind two austere gunmetal gray bridges and into the Black Sea. Where the shallows of the Golden Horn dead-end at the foot of a funicular, the Pierre Loti Cemetery offers a panorama of the ever-renewed city. As much as they value their views, Istanbullus treasure their shrinking green spaces. The most opulent manifestation of this is in the former sultans’ winter garden at the Dolmabahçe Palace, an iron-and-glass jewel box that is, like much of the city, an oxymoron: spring in eternal defiance of winter. This city is built on brazen contradictions. Although most people think of Istanbul as part of the Middle East, it straddles Europe and Asia and has weather pretty much like New York. (Yes, it snows. No, it’s not a desert.) It is




Above, left to right: The

Adahan Hotel’s craftfocused shop sits on its roof; the landmarked 1874 building was recently refurbished with ecological features. Canadian expat Jennifer Gaudet of Jennifer’s Hamam is working to revive traditional weaving techniques.



the cultural capital of a secular republic, where calls to prayer ripple through the streets like light through water, five times a day. I tell time by it and time feels short. Lately, Turkey’s neighbors on every side are imploding or exploding: Syria into civil war, Iraq into religious extremism, Greece into a depression. Even Ankara, the seat of Turkish politics, has descended into corruption, conservatism, and authoritarianism. And yet, during political protests two summers ago, I watched Turks on Twitter, Facebook, and graffitied walls prove themselves resourceful, broad minded, and full of inexhaustible humor. Istanbul is a city of infinite variety that can absorb anything—from cultures to chaos. And perversely, after the protests, which followed a decade-long bull economy, irrepressible self-expression and creativity have made it richer than ever. Every field, from modern art to traditional craft and fashion to progressive design and architecture, is at a boil. The Istanbul Art Biennial has earned international kudos; in December last year, the city hosted Turkey’s second design biennial—the first felt like a cultural rite of passage. Alcohol-free Islamic nightclubs have become as cool to the “covered” as craft cocktails are to the coiffed, and coffee is the newest habit in çay land. Servers at the Heirloom hotel will make siphon coffee at your table, stopwatch in hand. At the city’s first micro-roaster, KronotRop, you’ll get Hario V-02 and Kyoto cold drip, too. But, of course, Old Istanbul is there behind the diversifying: Cemil Üsta serves Turkish coffee, and only Turkish coffee, at a few low-slung tables at Mandabatmaz, which means “[so thick even] a water buffalo wouldn’t sink [in it].” Around the city, skills like this and other traditional crafts are being preserved and celebrated—in the most modern forms. Since 2011, at Hiç Con-

temporary Crafts in Beyoglu, ˘ Emel Guntas has stocked silk scarves illustrated by local label Rumisu and furniture, carpets, and ceramics radiating with color from Turkey, the Middle East, and Africa. In 2005 when he moved into the neighborhood, there wasn’t a shop or cafe in sight; now he’s surrounded. “Beside the texture of the 19th-century architecture, the thing that makes the area interesting is its inhabitants— the remaining Anatolian migrants, the bohemian rich, the young artists, and tourists,” Emel says. “What makes Istanbul interesting is the energy that comes from the mixture of the first and third worlds and from the coexistence of Eastern and Western lifestyles.” Karaköy, Ottoman Istanbul’s commercial hub and still an active port, is where those collisions began. Now Karaköy is the epicenter of Istanbul’s creative earthquake. Selda Okutan established her eponymous contemporary jewelry gallery there in 2011 under a canopy filigreed with ivy, next door to the vividly tiled Karabatak Cafe and a five-minute walk from the Istanbul Museum of Modern Art. The museum’s opening in 2004 effectively established the neighborhood for creative colonists. Selda works in an atelier in back, but sells her own detailed sculptural pieces alongside work by emerging artists like Arman Suciyan out of the sun-filled, glass-paned storefront. “Back then, there were only mechanic shops and spare-parts suppliers,” Selda recalls. “Karaköy is changing and people want to be part of this synergy.”

Santralistanbul was the city’s first power plant. In 2007 it re-opened as an arts and culture campus.

AROUND THE CITY, TRADITIONAL CRAFTS ARE BEING PRESERVED AND CELEBRATED—IN THE MOST MODERN FORMS. The Karaköy Galeri, launched last February by designer and artist Sema Topaloglu, ˘ inhabits a four-floor void in a building the width of a staircase. Sema’s own studio is in the Balat neighborhood, which abuts Fener and Fatih on the Haliç, perhaps the city’s most richly historical—and poorest—areas. The Saint Stephan Church is located here, an iron-framed Bulgarian Orthodox building prefabricated in Vienna in 1898, as well as the Kariye Camii or Chora Church, famed for its intricate golden mosaics. Close by, bridging old and new, the restaurant Asitane serves historical Ottoman food based on meticulously researched recipes. In fact, these areas are increasingly, if sparingly, dotted with signs of newness: shops conspicuously selling wine, the contemporary furniture-filled Reformist, and artists’ ateliers. Sometimes the most modern spaces are a synthesis of timely and timeless, such as Cahide Erel’s whimsical and earthy gallery of glass, ceramics, and curated coffees. Floating like a stage set beneath a flock of glass birds inside a modern warehouse, Perispri feels like a speakeasy modeled on a tony mid-century Turkish home: polished wooden furnishings, China cabinets, brass candelabra, a fireplace, and a tufted Chesterfield sofa. If you look closely, you will also find that the 47





Text by ANH-MINH LE Photographs by LAURE JOLIET Styling by SUSIE HERR

Opposite and above: Amanda Chantal Bacon’s home is a modern take on a cabin/beach cottage. The interior features white walls painted in Donald Kaufman Color’s DKC-5 and wide-plank white oak floors.


As a single mom and the CEO of a growing business, Amanda Chantal Bacon is constantly on the go. But whenever she’s home, she throws open all of the doors and windows to take full advantage of her enviable leafy setting. “I live in California—with beautiful light and sunshine and plants growing outside,” explains the native New Yorker. Four years ago, though, when she purchased her “cute surf shack” in Los Angeles’ Venice neighborhood, the outdoor area was hardly a selling point. “There was no yard,” she recalls of the now verdant garden. “It was just concrete. We ended up tearing up the concrete and bringing it back to dirt.” And that wasn’t the only thing that she had to rehab; in fact, the entire house, which was overrun with termites, had to be taken down to concrete slabs. At the time, she had been renting a place down the street and figured it would be an easy move. Instead, she found herself tackling a full-scale renovation during an especially busy time in her life: In the fall of 2011, in addition to buying her first house, she gave birth to son Rohan; launched the first retail outpost for her company, Moon Juice (; and became single. Amanda arrived in Los Angeles in 2006, by way of Vermont, where she had studied for a year at the New England Culinary Institute. In between high school and culinary school, she had traveled all over the world—Europe, Central America, South America. There was also a teaching stint in New Zealand. “Wherever I went,” she says, “I couldn’t get away from



Vintage Variety Amanda’s living room is outfitted with myriad vintage pieces—from the patterned rug and Anfibio sofa by Alessandro Becchi to the light fixtures and McCabe stereo cabinets. Even three-year-old Rohan’s play area is furnished with a vintage Thonet set of table and chairs; the wall hanging is by Evelyn Ackerman. (The lighting throughout the residence is from Rewire, which is owned by Josh Kritzer, Rohan’s dad.) The room is also home to Amanda’s collection of crystals. “I’m attracted to things that come out of nature, like crystals and flowers,” she says. “Flowers you have to change out of course, but crystals are low-maintenance.”


woven in time Text by ANH-MINH LE Photographs by NICOLE FRANZEN 18




arlier this year, at the annual FOG Design+Art fair in San Francisco, Adele Stafford and her seven-by-seven-by-seven-foot Ahrens Violette dobby loom took center stage. There they were, near the entrance to the venue, demonstrating how yarn is turned into a beautiful cotton cloth. Around the corner, a pop-up shop purveyed the finished product: tan throws with a blue grid pattern. The throws are part of Adele’s range of textile-based goods. She launched Voices of Industry (voicesofindustry .com) a couple of years ago, after getting laid off from a job at Frog Design’s San Francisco outpost. “It was a total blessing,” she recalls. “I remember thinking, What am I going to do now?” She decided to channel a longtime interest: “I was always into sewing and knitting,” says Adele, who studied glass at Rhode Island School of



Design and later earned an MBA from Simmons College in Boston. Perhaps it was serendipitous that she ended up rescuing a hand-built Macomber loom from the Salvation Army. Adele now has three looms, including the Ahrens Violette that she brought to FOG Design+Art. (It took half a day to disassemble the loom and another half a day to put it back together on-site.) She recently moved her operations from a shared San Francisco studio—shown in this story—to a two-room cottage behind her home in Oakland. Although she makes decorative pieces like throws and pillows, Adele is most interested in “distilled, elemental garments that are all about the cloth,” she says. “I take a painterly approach to looming—there’s a dimension that comes from the subtle colors and tones.” She focuses on cotton and wool that are farmed and spun domestically, and

Opposite, clockwise from top left: Weaver Adele Stafford

of Voices of Industry. Among her three looms is an Ahrens Violette. Hand shuttles are used for carrying the weft yarn across the warp of the loom. This page, top to bottom:

Adele keeps essential tools, such as an assortment of bobbins for the shuttle, next to the loom. A collection of finished garments hangs in her studio.




the pleasure principle After falling for the surfing lifestyle and natural beauty of Sayulita, Mexico, a couple builds a home and life in the tropical locale Text by ANH-MINH LE Photographs by AMY DICKERSON

It’s been 18 years

hotel just north of the Mexican coastal town of Zihuatanejo. It seems fitting, then, that the pair, who met in Miami and moved together to New York, would eventually settle in Mexico— wed in a little surf building not only a home, but their version of the good life in Sayulita with their three sons: Luke (11), Enzo (8), and Jacques (6). “We came here for many years to surf and we searched the entire coast of Mexico for the perfect spot to live one day,” says Anne. In 2000, the pair purchased a 24-acre parcel nestled between a secluded beach and a tropical rainforest. “There was nothing on the property, only palm trees—3,000 of them,” recalls Anne. “After construction, 95 percent of the natural property has been left untouched.” When they officially moved to Mexico nine years ago, they erected a two-bedroom abode, dubbed Casa Ninamu. “Building Ninamu was the test for the big house, O’Te Miti,” she says. Anne and Johann worked with architect Jean Claude Galibert on both structures. Casa Ninamu is available for rent, as is O’Te Miti, which is the family’s primary domicile. The latter is composed mainly of concrete and wood, with palapa roofs. The interior finish is the same as what you might find in Moroccan residences, with colored paste polished to a bright sheen. The vibrant exterior, a hue that is carried over inside, was chosen after since Anne and Johann Ackermann



“We came here for many years to surf and we searched the entire coast of Mexico for the perfect spot to live one day.”

This page and opposite:

The Ackermanns—Anne, Jacques, Johann, Enzo, and Luke—call TeiTiare Estate home. They occupy the property’s main house, Casa O’Te Miti. Previous pages: Anne and

Johann built their house on a 24-acre lot situated between the ocean and the jungle. The poolside lounge chairs are Johann’s handiwork.



Pride of Place

Opposite: Interior designer and photographer

Niya Bascom in his Brooklyn kitchen. An artful arrangement illustrates his penchant for African and Caribbean works, which are mixed with his own photographs.

Text by AMY ROSENBERG Photographs by NGOC MINH NGO Styling by KATE S. JORDAN

STEPPING INTO NIYA BASCOM’S HOME, I’m reminded of those children’s books in which the characters suddenly stumble on a different world. One minute I’m racing through Brooklyn’s Crown Heights neighborhood, tense because I’m nearly late. There’s booming construction just on the other side of the sidewalk separating Niya’s front door from the street, and an ambulance siren is blaring. The next minute I’m in an intimate, groundfloor den where the only light is a late-morning glow coming in through the window. Jazz is emanating from a record player in the corner, incense is burning, and I feel like I want to cozy up in the room’s single armchair forever. (That the chair was purchased by Niya on a trip to Ethiopia a decade and a half ago only adds to the sense that I have entered a world apart.) Niya, a photographer and interior designer ( who lives in the four-story limestone house with his 10-year-old son, Zion, is sitting on a sofa perpendicular to the chair. “This house always feels to me like a grandmother,” he says. “You have to be mindful and respectful.” There’s a modesty to the place, a small scale. The chair and the sofa take up little floor space, and they, along with a Bamileke round stool, hand-carved from a single piece of wood in Cameroon, are pretty much the only pieces of furniture in the room. 96


This page and opposite, left to right: The hallway

between the den and the kitchen; the stairs lead to son Zion’s bedroom. The long kitchen table is from West Elm. The reupholstered sofa in a secondfloor parlor was picked up at Eddie’s Salvage. “I was going for a minimalist feeling,” says Niya of the backyard.

“This house always feels to me like a grandmother. You have to be mindful and respectful.” The furniture may be sparse, but the art is larger than life—literally. An oversized Italian poster for the 1969 film The Learning Tree occupies nearly the entire wall it leans against. Wooden sculptures that Niya acquired during his many travels to South Africa, Ethiopia, and other parts of Africa populate the interior. Similarly, elsewhere in the house—the kitchen and the stairwell, for example—walls are covered from floor to ceiling with artwork. All of it creates a sense of energy that contrasts pleasingly with the studied simplicity of the furniture and the otherwise black-and-white palette.

When he was shopping for a home in 2007, Niya was looking for a place that just felt right. “I didn’t tell the broker this,” he explains, “but I was sold on this house the minute I stepped into the upstairs parlor. I pretended to be uncertain as we toured through it, but I knew right away that this was the place for us.” What was it about the parlor? “The wood, the details—everything is so fine. There was a real sense of creative energy, of a long history of connection with the space.” The building, constructed in the early 1900s, has had only three or four owners. “It was like you could feel in the walls how deeply it had been cared for,” he adds. 97

PRIZED Possession Photograph by ERIN KUNKEL “Having grown up on an orchard, I’ve always been enamored with fruit trees. When I moved from New York to the Bay Area in 2011, I kept imagining the California citrus trees printed on fabric, specifically as the upholstery on an antique settee that I had purchased on Craigslist and brought cross country. After a year, I finally found the perfect tree in Sacramento—big and dense, with lots of oranges—and used a photo of it to make this fabric. With its new upholstery, I love the settee even more now.”

ERIN GLEESON is a photographer and illustrator who resides in a cabin in the woods, just south of San Francisco. She is the author of the blog The Forest Feast ( and the 2014 cookbook of the same name.



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