07/27/2026
Part 2 of a little story about the creative process—and what makes me tick.
I am drawn, irresistibly, to what moves me.
Beauty moves me.
Order moves me.
History moves me.
What I call the exquisite ache moves me.
And when I am moved, creativity ignites. It feels as though the thing that has stirred me and my Best Beloved—my name for my Higher Self—begin conspiring to create, while I am lovingly pulled along.
That is how the bed you see here came into the world.
During a visit to Venice, I had one precious day to make a pilgrimage to Fortuny, the historic fabric house I have adored since I was a girl. Unknowingly, I had chosen the day of the Festa del Redentore—one of Venice’s most sacred celebrations.
The festival commemorates the city’s deliverance from the devastating plague of 1577. Venetians vowed that, if spared, they would build a church to the Redeemer and return each year in thanksgiving. That church, designed by Andrea Palladio, stands on the island of Giudecca.
It was only after arriving that I understood the significance of the day—and the extraordinary generosity of the Fortuny staff, who welcomed me for a private visit when they might reasonably have wished to be elsewhere.
I was making my pilgrimage to Fortuny as Venetians were making theirs to the Redentore.
Beauty, history, artistry, devotion and graciousness were all gathered into one unforgettable afternoon.
This bed was born from that day—its silhouette recalling the lyrical lines and layered history of Venice, and its form designed to receive Fortuny’s geometric Favo, or “Honeycomb,” fabric in faded blue and gold.
A piece of furniture, but also a memory made tangible.
🙏😚✨