The heat of August is inescapable. It lingers and swelters and leaves you in a sundrenched haze. As temperatures continue to climb over the sprawl of concrete that I, at the moment, call home, the desire for a sense of escape is profound. Slow, intentional moments dripping with nostalgia become the main ingredient of my existence this time of year. Behind sunscreen smudged sunglasses I find myself lost in daydreams of a childhood spent on slip and slides, running through front yard sprinklers and my parent’s wild idea of a crab boil for my sister’s 5th birthday party. These memories come in flashes, spinning into sunflared souvenirs of long lost carefree summers. Bright colors of plastic pools, grass stained cut off shorts and chalk drawn bike courses on the burning asphalt of the cul-de-sac – These are the echoes of my very early childhood. One that feels so impossibly far away, and yet still manages to wash me in a sense of timeless joy and adventure. I wish that I could bottle up that feeling of an innocent, wide eyed summer. The feelings of long lost days full of wonder and possibility. The days of skinned knees and the call of ice cream trucks. A time when land lines kept us grounded in reality and stacks of four by six drugstore photos cluttered junk drawers and filled countless shoe boxes. I long for the simplicity of it all. The Kodak tone of my childhood. 

I see my life as a series of images. Tableaus and moments designed out of a deep desire to live a full and beautiful life. It is, in a way, a compulsion. A need to spread aesthetics and intention into every corner of my little world. A curiosity for beauty and connection and experiences – A place where moments of the perfectly imperfect can thrive and swirl about in my mind.

I have always claimed to not really love summer. It was never a season that I truly wanted to melt into. But in time, summer proved to be a slow burn for me. I needed to learn how to live in the heat. To fall in love with all that the season had to offer beyond sweltering afternoons and the feeling that there was nothing to do. I needed to plunge into the sea and let the salt linger on my skin and in my hair. To grow into a person who loves heirloom tomatoes and linen dresses and the feeling of sunkissed skin over warm late night dinners. I simply did not know how to love summer. But now I do.

A summertime escape to Europe. From crystal clear waters in Croatia to slow living in Portugal, this little photographic tour is worth melting into.

July always feels extra nostalgic for me. Memories of the long days of summer from my childhood sometimes seem to be the most vivid. The scent of sunscreen and a slight tint of green in my hair from afternoons submerged in chlorine, the beauty of sun-ripened strawberries and homemade pies, and sprinklers in the yard and the taste of water from the tightly coiled green garden hose. I can play horseback gallops and diving board moments in my head on a loop as though watching family video tapes with an old VCR. Memories that flicker, at times, so clearly that I feel as though I could reach out and touch them.

I love a movie night. A girls night, slumber party, game night… I love any excuse to host, really. But I especially love a cozy movie night-in. They are without a doubt, some of my absolute favorites. The kind of nights that make you think ‘I really needed that!’ Chock-full of moments that feed one's soul and ignite a sense of nourishment that no meal alone could ever supply. Nights such as these are rich and divine simply because they are built upon the foundation of beautiful friendships, a lifetime of memories and movies that tug on your heart strings. Unique and exquisite elements that cannot be easily fabricated or manufactured as they are made up of life’s moments lived. They come from nostalgia and warm fuzzy feelings and a sense of childhood that is only a little forgotten. And they are the type of forever memories that I am forever craving and curating. 

Once upon a time, cheese plates were my hosting bread and butter. These aesthetic little snack spreads were my absolute forte, the only realistic way to host in my 380 square foot studio apartment with a microscopic kitchen and tiny breakfast nook. I would put together the tiniest guest list and dressed as if to go out for the night, we would gather round my café table, nibbling on cheeses and assorted goodies balancing drinks and plates precariously on limited surface space. These mini dinner parties are so deeply embedded in my heart and soul, a hint of curated escape born out of heavy desperation and an undeniable craving for something nice and pretty when it felt as though everything was falling apart around me.

I have forever been in love with the classic romance novels, with their tales of wooing and letter writing, dreamy picnics by the sea and petite bouquets of wildflowers gathered on strolls through the countryside, it is as if my dream life is being lived out by these characters. As I have settled more and more into my unconventional adult life, I see how much these fictional moments inspire me. How they have shaped my creativity and my life and how deeply I crave designing imaginative worlds for myself and my guests. It has all woven itself into a space meant for romanticizing seasons and experiences through nostalgia and tales of bygone eras. With summertime creeping in, the desire to build a feminine picnic with classic french faire and bottles of crisp white wine shifted from a faraway fictional daydream to an absolute compulsion. I needed an afternoon of sundresses under the shade of a lemon tree, Parisian inspired sandwiches, a bit of cheese, stone fruit and a salad that would transport me to the South of France.