My inspiration and escape place merged together in one. 

I realized early on living in New York City if I wanted to survive the city I needed an escape. An escape that would ground me from the wonderful madness of my life in the city. That would, and could, inspire me. Replenish my energy lost in a studio or social event.

I got lucky, and I feel so grateful that I found my 1790 farm house twenty years ago in upstate New York. A place surrounded by nature. A place I could walk around barefoot. A place where I was able to stick my hands in the dirt, paint a wall, make a stone terrace, experiment in my veggie garden, grow flowers, hear the birds chirp and nothing else.

A place to share with family and friends. 

Some friends would say we always end up working here…haha, yes, indeed, a place with a million tasks at hand and yet how fun to learn how to use a weed wacker or feel the satisfaction when you build something, or even better, when you grow something. Make dinners, BBQ and decorate the place. Each year I love decorating the enormous Thanksgiving table with elements from the garden and surroundings. 

And seeing my daughter Scyler feeling at home in nature – not afraid of swimming in a pond or taking a hike for a few hours, grabbing a frog and yet, being at ease in the city, too.

One of my dear friends who has come up many times wrote a piece in her book when we first got to know each other that captured so beautifully how the place makes me feel:

"When I visited her in her Dutch country house, vintage 1790, we knew each other from the fashion shoots, from that world, but we had yet to discover the other side, the obvious, when the sum of small gestures begins to unite us. The calculus of sympathy, from the first encounter. She had entered, and it was clear, I had found a new kind of daughter.

We walk around the property. Immediately upon my arrival, she wants to show me the outside  Nature, the beds where flowers bloom, the vegetable garden. And there is the swimming pool. It’s empty, I say unnecessarily. Frederique says: ‘Yes, I don’t like chlorine. But we swim in the lake. It is wonderful: soft brown water with lilies blooming, and some nice big fish.’ She laughs.

When we sit down under a canopy of wooden beams, I point out that there should be glass as a roof against sun and rain. Oh, no the wisteria will fill in so densely, it will be fine.

There are two very different conditions Frederique inhabits: the woman of the world, and the woman of nature. What she does powerful, and the power demands full attention. This is the supermodel. The benefits are satisfying, but only if you are not consumed by it. One must sit back and look at the inevitable danger of being consumed, swallowed, oh so easily.

It is seductive. 

We stroll down to the lower part of the property, to the pond, the eye of the sky. We take off our clothes and wade through the mud like water babies. It is still, nobody but us. Frederique swims ahead, laughing. With every stroke the city is left behind. This is country where you can hear the silence, and every sound is distinct, with its own name. And there it is, that other side of her, the natural woman who makes it all possible. Like the longevity of perennials in a garden. The immediate grappling with nature. That is so obvious, and handy, like a Kleenex when you cry. With that kind of resilience within, the origin of existence illuminates her life. It is always at her disposal, like a heartbeat. The strength that impels us to do great things, to endure.

– Beatrix Ost “The Philosopher’s Style”