WIREWOVE VOLUME I
WIREWOVE Wirewove Magazine is a visual diary of how we believe life should be--simple, relaxing, and a heck of a good time. In these pages you will find inspiration, ideas, and more. We hope this issue inspires you to get your hands dirty: spend time outdoors, create something beautiful, and appreciate life’s little moments. We hope to encourage you to do something you wouldn’t normally do, because there’s no telling what trade you’ll fall in love with. Wirewove is for those who wish to make, see, and do. Established in London, UK 2013. Editor: Alyssa Julian Cover photo: Andrey Surdyuk Opposite page photo: Stacey Clarke Back cover photo: Emily Suzanne
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
pages 2-3
pages 8-11
Introduction
Alice Gao on coffee making pages 6-7
pages 12-17
Discover: Cherimoya
Explore Alaska with Michael and Chelsea Spear
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pages 30-37
pages 19-25
Meet the Maker: Ariele Alasko
Around the studio with Ana Kras pages 38-39
pages 26-29
Magical Contamination: mould as art
Cacti + Succulents
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Discover: Cherimoya Brigette Muller explains the benefits of this South American treat
This sweet fruit — also known as the custard apple — is native to the Andes mountain range in South America. It has a taste reminiscent of strawberry, banana, pineapple, peach, and papaya… and a deliciously creamy consistency. It’s often frozen and then eaten with a spoon, which is the reason for its well-known nickname: the ice cream fruit. It’s filled with fiber, it’s got tons of vitamin C to keep your immune system pumping, as well as vitamin B, which keeps your energy levels high and your nerves in check. It has antioxidants, which are believed to help prevent or treat the likes of malaria, parasites, and cancer. Lastly, it’s loaded with potassium to help regulate your blood pressure and optimize your heart, muscles, and digestion. When you go to buy a cherimoya, think of it like an avocado. Choose one that’s firm to the touch, and store it at room temperature. Once it feels like a ripe avocado, wait one more day, then it’s ready to be eaten! But…how would one go about eating a cherimoya? Let us count the ways…Cherimoyas can be spooned right out of the skin and eaten that way, cut into cubes for salads, pureed for pastries, or frozen and blended into smoothies… just to name a few. To open, cut lengthwise with a knife, then remove the seeds and outer skin — these should not be eaten.
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WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE New York based photographer and coffee afficionado Alice Gao discusses tried and tested brewing techniques and methods words: Erin Boyle + Alice Gao / photos: Alice Gao
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Coffee.
There’s just something about it. From the foaming, freshly steamed milk poured into leaf shaped artwork to that fresh brewed scent, to the way it tastes first thing in the morning—we love it. We particularly love the way it photographs, and all the different brewing methods. One of our favourite ladies, Alice Gao, has a knack for photographing coffee, from cafes in Paris to her local joint in New York City, where she resides. And we’re apparently not the only ones--over 700,000 people follow her on Instagram, where she posts photos of her life, her cortados, and other various things. Here’s what she had to say about her brewing methods, coffee in New York, and what she looks for in a good cup. “It’s hard to say what my favourite spot in New York City is...” She starts off when asked about her go to choice for coffee in the city. “It’s constantly changing. For quality of coffee, I still really enjoy Blue Bottle. The one in Chelsea has a siphon bar on
the upper level, which is my favorite spot to linger over a cup of excellently made drip coffee (the Belgian waffles are a bonus). For atmosphere and café design, I love Cafe OST in the East Village. Marble tabletops, Thonets, and beautiful afternoon light.” She sighs. “I also have a soft spot for Abraço, since it was my neighborhood shop for so long.” We asked her about her criteria for a good cup of coffee when she’s out and about. “Well, for one, the place needs to be able to consistently pump out a good cup of coffee, no matter who is behind the bar. One thing I hate is only being able to go somewhere when ‘that one good barista’ is working.” I laugh, and agree because it’s true. “I am so precise at home with measuring beans and water, I [always] look to see how the café is doing pour overs. Are they just ballparking it, or using a scale, timer, and temperature-controlled water? As for espresso drinks, it’s all about taste and texture for me. I can’t stand over-extracted bitter espresso, and don’t even get me started on heaps of dry foam in my cappuccino. There should be a nice velvety feel to my cappuccino
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and a good balance of milk and espresso.” On her coffee drinking status: “It’s no secret that I’m passionate (read: a snob) about coffee, and I enjoy spreading the passion when I can. I will tell you to dump out that extra-hot triple-shot vanilla soy latte from Starbucks and try a ‘real’ cup of coffee.” It’s obvious that Alice is passionate about her coffee. We carried on about cafes, travelling the world, tasting coffee along the way, and how she brews when she’s at home. “My preferred method of home-brewing is the pour over. Specifically, I use the V60 ceramic dripper from Hario. But before I get ahead of myself, let’s talk some other basics: Scale: I use a .1g scale to weigh out my beans and measure the amount of water I end up using for the pour. Another, perhaps better, option is the scale from Hario because it has a built-in timer. Grinder: During the power outage last year from the hurricane, I bought a Hario hand grinder so I could continue the morning ritual. It’s much more wallet-friendly and it doesn’t hurt that it sits prettily on the counter. It gets the job done, but I have also heard
good things about the Baratza Virtuoso and the even cheaper Encore. I also try to clean my grinder every once in a while with Grindz. Kettle: For pour over, you really need a gooseneck kettle. I have three, but what I really use now is the Bonavita electric kettle. It lets me set the temperature for the water and hold it there. For more traditional and “Instagrammable” versions, you can get the one from Hario. Got all that? After that, all you really need are V60 filters and the optional range server.” She jokes that “now that you have your Porsche setup, you can’t go putting any old engine oil into it” and goes on to explain the importance of quality coffee beans. “I regularly buy from Stumptown and Blue Bottle, and always check the roast date. I personally prefer beans of Ethiopian origin, but that’s just me. When I travel, I always try to bring back a bag of beans from a local roaster that I enjoyed.” Last words: “Don’t freeze your beans, it’s a common misconception that it makes them last longer. It doesn’t. Also, no preground beans please.” Alice can be found on Instagram at: @alice_gao
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EXPLORE: ALASKA A visual diary of Alaskan landscapes through the eyes of photography duo and couple, Michael and Chelsea Spear
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March 2013, Michael and Chelsea Spear decided to leave all they knew behind them in Portland, Oregon, and venture to Anchorage, Alaska, after only 24 hours of serious discussion and a job offer of Michael’s dreams. They hosted a garage sale to rid themselves of material possessions, packed just three suitcases, their cat, and headed off. Their first night left them upset, unsure of their decision, and a bit scared to be so far from what they knew of as home. But after waking up, seeing the breathtaking mountain ranges, and making their space feel a bit more like home, they knew they had made the right decision. Michael now works as a visual manager in Anchorage, and Chelsea works as an offsite producer for a creative agency back in Portland, OR. This allows for them to work in the week and travel at the weekend, sharing photos of Alaska’s beautiful landscapes, both at home in Anchorage and around other, more remote parts of the state. They both use Instagram as the main way of sharing their photos—Chelsea as @seablanket and Michael as @michaeljspear— and have worked with VSCO, Apolis, and more, sharing their adventures with the world. Let them take you on an adventure around Alaska. words: Alyssa Julian / photos: Michael and Chelsea Spear
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Meet the Maker: Ariele Alasko Brooklyn based woodworker and artist Ariele Alasko creates spoons, tables, headboards, and more out of recyled and reclaimed materials
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you have any inclination toward working with your hands, getting a bit dirty, or making order out of chaos, your gut reaction to seeing Ariele Alasko’s work might be one of regret that you didn’t think of it first. Just as soon as this envy creeps in, however, the feeling dissipates into genuine admiration for the thoughtful creations that Ariele crafts with her own two hands, guided by her distinct design aesthetics and the considered desires of her clients. Ariele lives in Brooklyn, New York, where she fills her days with sawdust, making beautiful, practical things out of wood—from cheeseboards to tables to complex wall hangings. After only a few years of making objects of nature, Ariele’s style has become easily identifiable, since her handiwork is largely distinguished by geometric patterns fashioned out of lath—and for those who aren’t familiar with timber terms, imagine long, thin strips of wood in varying shades, much like what is used to make a lattice. The use of this humble material reflects the humility with which Ariele fashions these meticulous pieces, making things—not for her own pride and glory— but to be used, celebrated upon and shared by their fortunate owners. words: Julie Pointer / photos: Ariele Alasko & Arden Wray
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You’ve mentioned in the past that your favorite thing to make is your lath tables, because it means that you’re “building something that people gather around, celebrate on and are constantly using.” How do you see your work as being an integral part of bringing people together? When I was studying sculpture in college, I was constantly having inner battles with the non-functionality of my art. It was perhaps a sign that the match was not made in heaven, sculpture and I, but I continued to struggle with the relationship my entire college career. My mind was always leaning toward making things that would fit in my own home, not in a gallery setting. The moment I pinpointed the problem, I never looked back. It all came down to function. I was happiest the day I built a standing cabinet for my kitchen and filled it with things that needed somewhere to go. My answer—that cabinet hinted at—was furniture. And furniture could still be sculpture. It didn’t all fall into place as quickly as that, but that was one moment when I realized that I wanted to build things that people will use and everybody needs. When I build furniture for people, tables specifically, I can picture the breakfasts, the dinners, the gatherings they will have around this piece. Most often, a new table is an immediate excuse for a celebratory party, so even right away the table is already doing its part. I love the idea that people can really love a piece of furniture, and it’s made even better when that person has a hand in the design process. Every table I build is a specific pattern chosen by that person through a series of sketches and correspondences. In building a table for someone, I’m bringing something into their homes and lives that they will use every single day. That, to me, is so rewarding. What is the significance of being able to eat from, chop food on, work at, sleep under, decorate with, etc. things that you have made yourself? And how much does the anticipated end experience of the piece shape the way you make it? There’s an inherent pride that goes into living with something you build yourself. It’s in our nature to want to fix, build, beautify and assemble our surroundings. We’ve grown so far away from the time when every item we used, and our homes themselves, were something we had to make. As I build a table, it’s simply a lesser version of building a cabin from the trees I felled with the axe I forged. Even though I have power tools, I still had to go out searching for the wood and drag it back. When I’m surrounded by all the things I’ve made in my home, I feel accomplished. I feel like I went outside the normal routine of purchasing-made-easy, and instead, I foraged for materials and worked hard to create whatever it is I need. Obviously I buy plenty of furniture as well (mostly from junk stores) but even then it’s like a hunt: I go out to the areas where I know I’ll have the best shot of finding something, and sometimes you get it, sometimes you don’t.
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As someone who clearly appreciates handmade things and surrounds yourself with meaningful objects, what is something you truly treasure in your home or studio, and why? Everything in our house has been found or made, for the most part. Our area of Brooklyn was a crazy place for street finds the first five years we lived here, and I would find some treasure on the street at least once a week, ranging from antique oak desk chairs to vintage metal filing cabinets. There are so many pieces we have found over the years that we love even more because we broke our backs hauling them home 20 blocks. We really had to work for it. But perhaps my favorite things in the house are the three metal lamps that my boyfriend and
I built together. They are adjustable with bolts and nuts, and are built from found metal that we drilled and cut ourselves. I love them because they are a perfect collaboration between the two of us that we don’t often have time for—using his knowledge of kinetics and functionality, and my love for physically putting things together. I’m especially proud of them because each component of the lamps was intended to serve a different purpose before we turned them into lighting, which seems to be a recurring theme in all my work. Who or what has most influenced your path toward becoming a maker? The interesting thing is that even two years after college
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I still had no thoughts or intentions of building furniture. I had never done it before, nor did I think about it much, if at all. I became a maker through a jumble of little events that slowly led me toward where I am now. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, but it was almost two years ago that I stumbled across a bundle of lath on the sidewalk. I was walking with my boyfriend, and I picked it up and we brought it home. There was something about it, this little bundle of wood, the way the colors were light on one side and dark on the other, the long thin strips, all uniform in size and length. That bundle sat in our house for a few months until I spontaneously decided to cut it up into little pieces and lay them in a chevron pattern over a larger plank of wood. I didn’t have any tools at the
time other than a handsaw and a hammer (insane!) so I cut all the 45-degree angles by hand and nailed them in place with the same nails I pulled from the wood. The result astounded me. The colors were perfection. I rested the two-foot-by-three-foot panel on our mantelpiece and that was essentially how it all began: a lucky find, a sudden idea, a few moments of trying something new, and then it clicked into place. But the most important thing was a phone call I got a month after spontaneously quitting a sculptor’s assistant job. It was my dad on the other line, and he was asking me if I would come to California to build and design his restaurant. Restaurant? A surprise for everybody! He had just stumbled across the perfect space, so
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spontaneity was a driving force behind many of the next few decisions we made. I started my blog, rented a truck, and drove across the country with a dear friend, Amelie, collecting all sorts of wood and materials along the way (including a huge bundle of lath!). The next seven months of my life were spent building the restaurant, Il Vecchio, entirely from scratch—a hugely pivotal event that changed the entire direction of my life. For one, my patterned tabletops were invented there! What’s been the most surprising thing about this venture you’re on—making your own living by building the things you love? When I first graduated college I was in a creative slump. I had no idea what I wanted to do exactly, so I went a normal direction of working for other artists. I was making the ideas of other people come to life, and feeling uninspired to create my own work in general. I couldn’t understand how to get inspired and stay that way. When I finally discovered that wonderful thing called lath and began building my furniture, I was stunned at how much inspiration I suddenly had. It came out of nowhere. I was driven, I was excited. I started the blog and people began to find my work and I felt like I was sharing something and connecting with new people. And what has surprised me the most is that I’m able to stay inspired—that I’ve stuck with it even as long as I have and that I keep on going of my own volition. I wasn’t sure if I would be entirely capable of self-motivation when left to making all the decisions on my own. Of course, I have my days just like everybody where I don’t want to go into work, but mostly I’m thrilled to get to my studio every day. My work is so time consuming, but somehow I’m still enjoying sorting through the same heaps of wood again and again, measuring, cutting, and nailing; measuring, cutting and nailing and so on. WIREWOVE 24
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M A G I C A L CONTAMINATION Antoine Bridier-Nahmias makes petri dish sized artwork from mould formations
Grey is found everywhere: rocks, clouds, elephants, fishes, asphalt... it can reflect both softness and depression, and sometimes, as a natural phenomenon, it can be dreaded as it appears in little spots over a loaf of bread or on some innocent-looking raspberries. In his tumblr Magical Contamination, Antoine Bridier-Nahmias turns his attention to this particularly occurrence – suddenly, under his attentive eye, those unwelcome microscopic mushrooms reveal their beauty and become strangely fascinating. The greyness of the organic matter, sometimes disrupted by dashes of colour, creates organically grown compositions. The grey of blending and crossfertilization (motifs that we have already come across in this section) is strongly present the petri dishes: it urges you to give in to the things you are not in control of, to accept nature and see how inherently magical it is. It pops out of nowhere within the city, your house, your fridge – in the same way it might have centuries ago. Beyond the fusion of art and science, Antoine Bridier-Nahmias’ photographs underline a phenomenon that is both natural and universal – a greyness that occurs in all places and evokes in us suspicion and dread, or that can cause an unexpected, renewed sense of wonder and general curiosity. words: Mathilde Leblond / photos: Antoine Bridier-Nahmias
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ANA KRAŠ: STUDIO TOUR Belgrade born, NYC based artist Ana Kraš on her famous bon bon lamps, life in Serbia, and her New York studio words: Anna Carnick / photos: Giada Paolini & Garance Dore WIREWOVE 31
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olorful yet surprisingly quiet, Ana Kraš’s craftdriven designs evoke a romantic, day-dreamy mood. The ongoing Bonbon Lamp series—her standout project to date—is made by hand-wrapping delicate lengths of chromatic thread around geometricshaped wire frames. Each unique lamp that she creates is at once elegant and childlike; not dissimilar, in fact, from the twenty-nine-year-old Serbian–born, New York–based designer herself. Kraš works out of a large, light-drenched studio in the Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural and Education Center (named in honor of the Puerto Rican poet and activist), a Dutch Neo-Gothic building built in 1898 that originally housed one of New York City’s public schools (PS 160). Her studio is on the fourth floor, and features two long walls of waist-to-ceiling windows that overlook the surrounding Lower East Side neighborhood. On the day we met, the light through the windows washed the open space in a bright, enveloping white. Tools, sketches, frames, and spools of yarn in a rainbow of hues dotted the studio. Kraš was in the midst of busily finishing up her latest batch of Bonbons before heading out of town for an artist residency at a Tuscan estate
known as Villa Lena. As we spoke, Kraš sat before me composing her latest piece. Something about the methodical nature of the act—the quick, fluid movement of yarn over wire— seemed to settle her and called to mind the grace and familiarity of a musician with an instrument. Let’s talk about these beautiful Bonbon Lamps. What was the original motivation behind the series? I had this one lamp frame that was accidentally built to the wrong size, and, over time, as it hung in my house, I began to envision thread wrapped around it. It seemed like a crazy idea at first—it was so much work and I’d never done anything with textiles—but I decided to try it. The first one took me ages; it was so painful and at moments I wondered why the hell I ever thought of this. But now it’s become such an easy, enjoyable thing; I don’t even think about it, my fingers just do it. Most of my designs are very simple projects; but by playing with colors, shape, and materials, I can make endless variations on a topic. That is the most interesting part for me. I can make a billion lamps and each one can be unique.
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What can you tell us about the process behind the Bonbon Lamps, starting with the initial sketch? I do a technical drawing of the frames, and then a metal carpenter in L.A. makes and powder coats the frames. After, I do the manual wrapping work. Do you plan them out color-wise before you begin? Or does that evolve as you work? I almost never think about that in advance; I just start making. That’s why it’s a pleasure—it’s very personal. Every once in a while I’ll do one with a color palette per a special request, but most of the time I make them as I like. Looking at the spools of thread around us now, they’re just so beautiful—even on their own. Where do you source the thread? Yes, they’re so gorgeous! I love surrounding myself with them. From the beginning, I knew I didn’t want to buy thread in a shop; I wanted to recycle leftovers from the fashion industry. Each season, there are new colors, new styles—people really think that they need all those changes twice a year—so the fashion brands have tons of leftovers. I reached out to Ivko Knits, a Serbia-based knitwear brand. They’re very sweet people, and they
were really happy to collaborate. So I went and picked out random colors from previous collections that were sitting in storage to make the lamps. Ultimately, though, I’d love to collaborate with different brands and make different editions using their fragments. It would just be so interesting. In general, when do your best ideas come to you? Usually, my ideas come as a complete or final concept. I don’t really ever sit and think, “I want to make a table, so what should I do?” I just have these streams of ideas that come all together, like ten of them all at once. It happens a lot during night, actually; so I’ll wake up and write them down. When did you first know that you wanted to do something creative? Since I was a child. I’ve always drawn a lot. I come from a working-class family that was interested in art, but there was no one encouraging me to do something specifically creative. They let me pursue whatever I wanted, and I wanted to draw. So when I was about to go to the University of Applied Arts [in Belgrade], it was obvious that I was going to do something related to illustration or art, but I didn’t really know what the
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options were. How did you choose to pursue design? At university, when I saw the interior architecture and furniture design course, it sounded so fun. I’d never even considered that furniture design was a profession; I’d never thought about the fact that someone designs all those things in our houses. I gave it a try, and it was so interesting–especially the problem-solving elements. My father is an engineer, so I may have that practical or technical aspect in my genes. For me, the problem-solving part is the most fun part. You can even create the problems—give yourself a task and then figure out how to do it. It’s been about five years since you graduated and set up your own studio. What have you learned so far? Just make things. If a project works, it works; if not, so what—it will lead me to the next thing. I don’t overthink anything. I try to follow my feelings. When you were in Belgrade after school, were you designing exclusively on your own or were you working for other studios? When I was studying, my country was—and still is—in a very bad political situation. So during and after, there were no exchange programs, no internships, really; there are basically no studios in Belgrade because there is no work, there is no money. There isn’t space for design. It is important still, but it is not mandatory—it’s not like the dentist, for example, where you need to go to fix your teeth because they hurt. Design is an extra thing in life; it’s not priority. So I didn’t do any internships, though I wish that I had. I have this little hole in me because of that. I never actually saw the way a real studio works, in terms of organization or business. All designers have their own ways of working, of course, and that’s something you own. But the business does work in a certain way, and that’s what I missed seeing. So I’m learning from my own mistakes and triumphs. After my last year of university, I had my first international show as part of a group exhibit in Milan during Salone del Mobile. That was my first interaction with that world. And then the next year I had another show there that included the Bonbon Lamps, and that was quite successful. But it was very confusing for me to get that attention. Even after that, I thought I wanted to try to get an internship at some of the studios I really liked. But I was advised by people in the field that I might, at that moment, skip the internship and just go forward on that path on my own. It made sense, but it still was kind of sad for me. So I’ve always worked on my own. I’ve never worked for someone else. In that vein, are there any designers you especially admire? I love so many different artists and designers, but one of my favorites is Konstantin Grcic. His designs are so innovative. I had thepleasure of meeting him when I was a student, after a lecture he gave in Belgrade. We had a conversation about my diploma work, my Hug Chair. I’ll never forget what he said to me.
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What did he tell you? I was working on the first prototype of my first chair. A chair is such a serious piece, in a way; you use it with your body in a particular way. I was obsessively scared that I was going to make a really uncomfortable chair, and I was trying to figure out how to avoid that. I was making a plywood chair, too, which was another challenge. I remember telling Konstantin that, and he said, “Who says the chair has to be comfortable?” At first I was really shocked, because, of course, I was making this chair for people to sit on. And he said, “Yes, but there are different kinds of people. I, for example, sometimes like a chair that is not too comfortable, so that it makes me sit up straight. Then I don’t go all limp and get super-relaxed. You are the boss of your chair, and you decide how comfortable it’s going to be.” And just to have that encouragement, to be shown that freedom, it helped me relax, and it was such a big moment for me.
And then I made a chair that was quite comfortable— especially for a wooden chair. It’s not the chair that you want to sit in for, say, five hours, but it’s a good dining chair. So I recognize now all the different levels of comfort for various situations, and that different people have different ideas of comfort. Ideally, every chair finds someone who will enjoy it. You are never going to please everyone and you shouldn’t even try. You said you felt you’d missed out because you didn’t get the chance to intern; this sounds like it was a kind of mentorship moment, though. Yes, and I’d dreamt of doing an internship at his studio! I still dream of that—I mean, I really wish it had happened. Mentorship is always the best thing that can happen in your life, if you’re lucky enough to meet an incredible mentor. •
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CACTI + SUCCULENTS An examination of the shapes, sizes, colours, and textures of these water storing desert beauties
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rowing up in Southern California, I was raised around various types of succulents. From the Joshua Trees in the desert, to the big Saguaro’s that line the sides of the freeway headed towards Arizona, I was oblivious to them. Not until more recent years have I begun to appreciate the true beauty of succulents. For a start--they’re hardy. They are virtually impossible to kill, because they are accustomed to living in poor soil conditions with little to no water. They almost always produce a beautiful geometric pattern, especially succulents of the Echeveria variety. When they are happy, they show it by producing a large flowering stem out the centre for rounder types, or blooms for Saguaro types. Their flowers are mostly shades of bright pink and orange, and are a beautiful compliment to breathtaking California sunsets. Succulents line the beaches, rooting to the sand; they create strong silhouettes in the desert sky, and they’re the perfect companion for an area that’s mostly drought ridden.They’re beautiful: something to get lost in. Here, we explored a local succulent specific nursery, OC Succulents, to wander around their range of plants and get lost in a sea of succulents. We loved it. words: Alyssa Julian / photos: Alyssa Julian
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