John's Journal

Thailand and I go way back… 20 years, in fact. I was a recent art-school graduate trekking across India in search of block printing workshops, and frankly, I was worn out. I flew to Bangkok for a break, showed up at an art opening for Julian Schnabel, and somehow emerged from that party with a job working for a Thai who was developing what can only be summarized as the Barneys of Bangkok. I stayed, and fell for that dysfunctional, seductive city. It inspired me then, and continues to, even when I’m in my Manhattan studio. It informs my sense of color, pattern, and texture. But more than that, it informs my life. No matter where I am in the world, I keep my watch set to Bangkok time. And now I’m back: for the markets, museums and restaurants in Bangkok’s old city. I arrive with my sketching notebook, my iPhone for quick snaps, extra bags for shopping finds, and the quickening sense of returning to someone—or, in this case some place—you love. Hello, Bangkok. I’m always glad to see the city hang onto its steamy balance of the old Siam and the new, go-go Asia. Turn-of-the-century mansions veiled by groves of bamboo sit next to mirrored skyscrapers. Thai temples pose elegantly like steps up to the heavens, and monks wait patiently for alms in the early morning hours. Thailand emerges to the senses like a lotus from muddy water—an explosion of neon pink blossoms—to feed you, entertain you, and of course sell you a few yards of silk. The morning I arrive, jetlagged and expecting my wits to follow in a day or two, I stumble into the bright white Siam Hotel, perched regally on the banks of the Chao Phraya River (Bangkok’s ancient lifeline, pouring southward into the Gulf of Siam). Here in the old part of the city—home to some of Bangkok’s best museums and markets—this new hotel echoes the antique patina of the neighborhood in luxurious style. In the lush atrium, I move past rows of two-story-high Emperor palms and catch the sounds of Thai crooners from the 1940’s wafting from hidden speakers. A city that blooms out from its mother river, the Chao Praya Bangkok reveals its heart and soul to those who take to the water so jump on a boat. I drift past the many-spired complex of the GrandPalace, the official residence of the kings of Siam (and later, Thailand) since 1782, and which offers a heady mix of Saint Peter’s Basilica, a Baroque painting, and a Vegas casino. Nagas, Thailand’s frighteningly beautiful serpent deities, appear to fly out from the bases of the temples. Mythical stone warriors and lions stand guard (and protect the king), like characters in a fantasy opera. Golden, seven-tiered umbrellas meant to shelter his highness, stand opulently in front of eggplant-colored murals on the palace walls. Nearby stands the massive temple Wat Arun, its tower decorated with demons and monkeys and encrusted with porcelain mosaic tiles that catch the low light of sunset and set it dancing. I love the stupas, these tall elegant temples throughout Thailand (more than 30,000 of them) that hold Buddhist relics. No two are alike. Once, convalescing from a broken leg in Bangkok (that’s another story), I sat day after day, drawing the delicate elongated domes of the stupas in ink. It’s good to see them again, unchanged, forever pointing to heaven. Around another bend: Bangkok’s glorious Flower Market. Shipments of flowers from the outer provinces arrive by nightfall; sacks full of jasmine and marigold blossoms spill out lazily on tables and pavement. I watch the colors bloom, and suddenly, those lotus bouquets we drift by become new print ideas. I spy orchids in every color and dream of odd and exotic combinations—deep violet and cinnabar pink, a stunning white-green, the earthy carmines of alizarin and madder red. I think of the brightly colored bracelets and necklaces strung from fresh flowers for sale at the Flower Market. Every time I visit, I find the ladies who sit at their tables and patiently piece together lotus blossoms as if they will last forever, while knowing that they will fade the next day. I find this reverence for the fleeting quality of beauty everywhere in this country. It’s truly a Thai approach to life.  My mind fills with a visit I made a few days ago to the National Museum, to renew my love of its Khmer sculptures in red stone and its gracefully aging Thai trade textiles. I was wandering without purpose, as I often do, and then there she is: a small girl, standing still and dropping white frangipani blossoms into a pool filled with blazing golden koi. She wears a flowered dress. I inhale with the still beauty of the vision, and then she skips away, disappearing through a door. Thailand is like this. It’s a moment, a gesture. And if you are watching, it can mean the world.   Best, John Robshaw   

…Whereas, Pepper has nothing in it to that can plead as a recommendation… its only desirable quality being a certain pungency; and yet it is for this that we import it all the way from India! - Pliny The Elder, 77 CE I am always searching for pungency, and Cochin Fort seemed like the perfect place to explore. Tucked in a corner of the state of Kerala, Cochin was once the center of the Indian spice trade. Its port was settled by traders from around the world, so I knew I’d find some incredible history to step into. I have to admit, I did not enter by sea which was my wont. Instead, I flew most of the way from New York, but to get into the mood, from the airport I piled onto a ferry which was jammed to the point of tipping over with cars, motorbikes and rickshaws as I journeyed to Cochin. I try to make connections when I travel through friends of friends (or cousins of relatives once-removed from some locals) to latch on to for a better understanding of the local sites and cultures. Fortunately I knew Pip Rau, a famous textile dealer from London, whose very old friend, Joerg Drechsel, owns a number of properties in Cochin which is how I landed in the center of the old quarter on one of Drechsel’s doorsteps, the Malabar House. The hotel is a lovely old Colonial that Joerg and his Spanish wife, Txuku, renovated, and as I walked under wooden columns into their magical courtyard, South Indian musicians floated past candlelit tables playing traditional melodies. I was transported to the India I wanted to see, not the modern country rushing headlong in every direction. So even if this was a choreographed fantasy enclosed in an old house, I was happy to be part of the adventure.The next day, I took an early yoga class on my teak wood balcony, with Sanja, my instructor, who is also a trainer in Kalarippayat, the oldest martial arts form in Asia. Sanjay calmly guided me into breathing exercises and helped me escape all I had come from. We sat under an awning protected from the glowing, golden sun, and time slowed. Motorbikes stopped passing. Birds talked. My mind cleared. With a new outlook, I was ready to explore and take in the sites. When traveling My first rule of thumb is to get lost, which I have no problem doing since I have a horrible sense of direction. I wandered my way down the sea to catch a glimpse of the famous Chinese fishing nets. They hang off long bamboo arms, and are slowly lowered into the indigo water like giant spiders spanning 20 meters. These incredible relics of Chinese fishing are mesmerizing to watch as they collapse, then come up gracefully from the water like ballet dancers rising to make a pirouette—but full of fish!Very near the nets I found a boisterous local market. There, fishmongers were making beautiful stacks of silver, blue and corral fish in baskets, and I noted those colors for spring. Nearby a man sold spirographs and I bought his tester pieces with their dozens of different designs in blue and red ball point pen, delicate universes that seemed related to the Chinese fishing nets.  Right by the market is St. Francis Church. Built in 1503, it’s the oldest European church in India. The church is painted in a crisp white accented by aquas and reds, and its windows were open letting sunlight stream in. There, I saw a statue of a saint on which someone had placed an umbrella in a regal shade of iris to block the sun. I like tropical religion; it seems much more relaxed. Cochin is motion. You just have to jump in and swim for your life. On one of my first trips to India I learned never to hesitate when crossing the street, even if a bus is careening towards you-He expects you to keep moving. If you pause he will hit you. The Colors seem to vibrate and mix in the scorching sun. Design ideas come to me on the fly, as I walk, as I get lost, as I wander the town. The color of the tide dragging in, the spirals in a fisherman’s net, a fleeting mandala painted on a sidewalk never meant to last. That’s the fun part about my job: I get to blend, mix and combine all of the world into designs that can marinate like fish sauce and end up as pungent as pepper at an old sea port. STAY Malabar House: Great food and wine bar upstairs. Amazing live music every night. Trinity Resort: On the back waters an hour from Fort Cochin a must. EAT Malabar House: For dinner and live performance. Kashi Gallery on Burgher Street : Great cafe for lunch and to see the groovy kids hanging out working on their novels. Cafe Jew Town: Clean and easy right near the synagogue where you might need a fresh lime soda after. SEE Kalarippayat: The oldest martial arts forms of Asia to achieve fitness and prevent injuries. Go for the mark up part if you like seeing men put on makeup with intensity. Bishops House: Lovely old house with a quirky museum. St. Francies Church: Built in 1503, I love old Colonial churches with the windows all open painted in fiesta colors with birds swooping over the pews. Chinese Fishing Nets: In Vasco da Gama Square still working and built in the 14th century. SHOP Crafters: One of the big antique shops on Jew Towns main drag. Also, see his spices shop at the end of the road. Heritage Arts: Jew Town road has 7 massive warehouses don't miss one. Cochin is a port town so its easy to ship to the USA, but argue hard it might be more relaxed than the North but the dealers are not. Idiom Booksellers: Amazing collection of books on India.  

My memories of Goa are from twenty years back: the palm-lined funky Anjuna beach, the lithe hippies covered in jewelry and dreadlocks (and attitude) selling all their earthly possessions on beach towels. People who lived out on the skinny branches of existence. I wanted to join them or at least grab some of their style. Goa has exploded since then. The foreigners have settled for good and more Indians have come to appreciate this little gem down South, creating an amazing fusion cuisine. Toss in a blast of much-needed sunshine this time of year and it’s well worth the ride. Anjuna and Vagator beaches are crowded now. I would only stay there if you can grab one of the old Portuguese houses at the aptly named Elsewhere, which feels like the end of the world but is actually within walking distance of some great restaurants. Otherwise head south to Ashvem and Mandrem. South Goa is much sleepier than the North with more natural beauty, yoga at every turn and historic Portuguese homes. Elsewhere has four old Portuguese houses and a few tents tucked on a spit of land between a marsh and the sea, accessible only over a bamboo footbridge. The island is extremely laid back, even by Indian standards. Under a long thatched roof waiters brought us spicy Goan curry with shrimp and local brown rice, which I was told would cure all manner of ills and never add a pound. The Captain’s House is the place to stay, found at the end of  a winding path from the ocean, decorated with antique Portuguese furniture and planter’s chairs.  Put your legs up at sunset and watch the ocean change colors. The manager, Barbara, could host a game show and gives solid tips on what’s happening in town and where to eat. The staff has a lively 5pm volleyball game every day if you want to join.  For dinner try La Plage, a glammy beach shack run by the French, of course. It features tasty seafood fusion like tuna with wasabi. Right down the beach from La Plage is L’atelier, a perfect place for lunch. I had a dazzlingly presentation of grilled Goan Kingfish with grilled papaya and squid with basil sauce. There seems to be more shops to look around up North along the Ashvem beach near the restaurants. Seraphina had a cute place where my photographer bought a neon top for his wife. Dust is right nearby, a chic high-ceilinged bungalow with a lot of printed beachwear. A few days passed until I could reluctantly pull myself away from Elsewhere. I took a driver for my move south. Lots to see and do along the way. We first stopped in at Gunpowder for an excellent Indian lunch in a lush garden with super relaxed service. Next we found People Tree in a lovely Old Portuguese villa, one of the first shops in India to highlight local crafts and great Indian designed products. We continued on to the town of Marposa to have a quick look around the local market. I love stumbling around places like this, a mash-up of textiles, fruits, clothing---lots of hidden treasures. My photographer has a shop he likes for lightweight  striped dhurries. Friday nights are big nights at the market with tons of vendors selling everything from fashion to homeware. From Marposa it’s just twenty minutes to Panjim Town and its great Portuguese historic center. We had a glass of Portuguese wine on the balcony of the Panjim Inn and admired the zany mural covering an entire wall of the restaurant, part of its first-wave hippie heritage. We spent time wandering  the old quarter and admiring the bougainvillea-covered Portuguese houses and churches. Gallery Gitanjoli had an incredible photography show of Raghu Rai. Across the street is a local tile shop. Just as we started to fade, we grabbed  a strong coffee,a local map of the historic district, and a bicycle at Urban Café coffee shop. After the coffee we went to Our Lady of Immaculate Conception church and made a quick stop to grab chili masala cashews from Zantyes. The tasty nut was first introduced by the Portuguese tho India has now cornered the market. Finally we reached the South, about an hour and a half journey down windy palm-covered roads.  Palolem is full of temples, coconut trees, fishing villages and the Old Fort of Cabo De Rama.  Rent a scooter or Enfield if you want to really see and feel the South. Stop into Chim shop opened by an NID grad (National Institute of Design, debatably the best design school in India) that features new Indian designers on the main drag of Palolem beach. Stay at Turtle Hill, Canacona’s private two-story beach bungalows, and don’t budge.  TO DO Saturday night market in Arpora for all of your eclectic shopping needs. Anjuna Flea market Wednesday. Shamana spa at the Grand Hyatt in Bambolin is the fancy spa if you need a hit. Lots of yoga everywhere see Love Goa I was too lazy. Cabo De Rama Fort Venite for drinks only, on 31st January road, Panjim. Urban Café, Marposa https://www.facebook.com/pages/URBAN-CAFE/390361427794653   TO STAY Elsewhere, Mandrem beach aseascape.com for bookings Turtle Hill, Canacona turtle-lounge.com   BUY Love Goa guidebook by the brilliant Fiona Caulfield is amazing! She also has them for other towns. They are all worth their weight in gold just by saving you endless hours of confusion with drivers! Seraphina boutique Ashwem beach seraphinagoa.com Dust, Ashwem beach next to Seraphina dustatelier.com Cholta Cholta Walking tours of Panjim. Peopletree peopletreeonline.com Gallery Gitajoli, Panjim Zantye’s Cashews, Samrat Ashok theater, 18th June Road, Panjim. Chim Shop, Palolem beach 

  Upon landing in Sri Lanka, I immediately wanted to compare it to India. At a swanky dinner party in a renovated colonial mansion, the smartly outfitted host gently reprimanded me to leave India in India- so I did that. With that, I could behold Sri Lanka opening up before me- a land of Buddhist, Tamils, Muslims, and Christians recovering from a war but moving forward, surrounded by perfect oceans, rambling jungles, and scores of temples. To kick-start my senses, I searched for the local markets, as they are the best place look at colors and textures to get some ideas for prints. Pettah is the main market in Colombo. My driver warned me that professional pickpockets managed to snag his cell phone from his shirt pocket, so beware! I waded into the surf of humanity; past food stalls, smiling hawkers barking out the merits of their goods in mountains spilled out on the pavement in blinding sunlight. Completely lost down a back alley, I ended up in a banana warehouse where fellows in bright plaid sarongs hoisted massive bunch of neon green bananas with relaxed ease. A few hours south of Colombo, I stopped at Pinnawala Elephant Reserve. Herds of blue grey elephants rollicked in the river, set against a layered canopy of jungle. Next, I was off to Kandy, which is the home of the Temple of the Tooth and the Ersala Perahere, the country's most raucous Hindu festival. I like to buy puja- offerings of vibrant lavender and pink flowers at temples as they are always delicately organized so I can make merit, as well as find some color stories for prints. I finished the day at the nearby the Peradeniya Botanical gardens, strolling by a bewildering variety of palms. My favorite is the Dr. Suez-looking kauri pines, which are twisted as if they were dancing in the wind over the picnicking families. The next morning, I set out for a citadel called Sigiriya, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is massive rock you climb up to see the commanding views of the valley- a lush green canopy as far as the eyes can see. Also in the vicinity is Kaludiya Pokuna, an archeological reserve. It had moss-covered stupas with worn caves that calmly wait buried in the trees. Always pressing on in search of more visual ideas, I took the old highway South with the ocean on one side and trains chugging past on the other side. Of course there was a traffic jam, but for good reason as there was a Hindu parade sharing the road, a cornucopia of gods on bikes carrying paper flower trees, stilted figures hobbling past, and dark demons growling at the sarong clad families who were lining the street to clap and cheer. Pressing on to Jeffrey Bawas gardens is the perfect way to finish the day. The gardens snake over hills and down to lake terraces, accompanied by sculptures overgrown with vines. It is here that I found vistas completely relaxed and brimming with contemplativeness, like this country. I finally have some ideas for my garden I have been struggling with. I always believe in happy accidents in travel and design. Design comes when I am not in search of it-when I stumble into it headlong. Dazzling Sri Lanka gave me the energy and colors for this Fall collection- banana greens, dusty blue grey elephants framed, by jungles- raucous plaid sarongs and offering flowers in pink and yellows. I offer up this new collection like a puja to you- I hope your prayers will be answered.To counter the chaos of the local markets, I headed to the regal Cinnamon Gardens to pay homage to Geoffrey Bawas house, the premier Sri Lankan architect. His house calmly welcomed me with whitewashed rooms interrupted by internal palm gardens. The juxtaposition of old and new is striking here; I was amongst perfectly curated local crafts mingling inside a modern house. The living rooms were covered in a 20 feet long antique textile joined with modern furniture a veritable mix of old and new - modern and colonial, all of which reveal that what is Sri Lanka.

  Who has not heard of the vale of Cashmere, with its roses the brightest that earth ever gave its temples, and grottos, and fountains as clear as the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave. - Thomas Moore, Lalla-Rookh   Expecting machine gun bunkers, I was pleasantly surprised to just stroll out from the airport in Srinagar into any other Indian town except with air-the fresh, soft alpine! I am surely not in India with trucks and taxis barreling down on you. Instead, I arrived in a land of gardens and lakes that's been put on hold of Indian urban sprawl for the last 20 years, not out of choice, but be that as it may I would say dash there and enjoy it while it lasts. Muzaffar, the owner of Kashmir Caravans who led tours around the world before he came back home to set up shop in Srinagar, met me at the airport. Muzaffar did a brilliant job organizing my trip around the region and immediately we were battling back and forth like crickets trading stories of distant lands we had both traveled-oh yes Fergana Valley weavers are intense. And the souks of Damascus don't get lost in them… etc. On my first day we headed out to see the famed Mughul gardens. The garden is well-tended and lined with clean rows of dahlias, cocks combs, roses, chrysanthemums, marigolds, pansies, dog flowers and straw-flowers all standing at attention as water gurgled up from the fountains and couples posed for snaps.  After the gardens I took a small launch from the ghat (which just means landing but I like the word) to the houseboat I stayed on, The Sukoon. It is one of the few upmarket boats, subtly redone with a well-trained staff and it’s anchored at the end of the lake without any other boats to obstruct your view of the mountains. I was just in time to sit up on the deck and have a cup of chai as the sun set- I can see why the Brits stayed here for months on end during the summers! The next day we went to a local crafts fair called Farmers Market Art & Crafts Bazar that is usually held every two Sundays at the Almond Villa owned by the daughter (Joyti Singh) of Maharaja Karan Singh. The fair trade featured local artisans selling crafts ranging from almond honey to felted rugs. You must try the home cooked Biryani and Kashmir apple pie they sell.  Muzaffar then led me on a jaunt through the old city, first to the Nakashband Sahib, a famous Sufi shrine with a very intriguing pagoda style of architecture. Continuing we next went to the Jamai Mosque with features a massive central courtyard and miles of prayer rugs. Lastly we stopped at the Shah-I-Hamdan mosque which was in full swing with many supplicants due to Eid, and the mosque was decked in piney green prayer clothes fluttering like the flocks of pigeons. I was fortunate to be invited back to Muzaffar’s stately home for a real Kashmir home cooked lunch, which is always a treat. Seated on the floor, the dishes kept coming and if you are non veg don't miss the mutton in Kashmir it’s their specialty. After lunch I did some shopping and first on the list was Muzaffar shop called Andraab, which also has locations in Delhi Jaipur and Udaipur. The shop features creatively designed Kashmir scarves and throws and with the strong dollar it’s a steal right now! Down the street is the first studio Mahatma & C photography since 1915. They still sell lovely black and white postcards and old equipment while a charming proprietor. The perfect end of the day is a ride along the back canals by boat. The boat is paddled by two fellows chatting in Kasmiri while I lounge back and we pass through the narrow back lanes of the lake where farmers grow vegetables, shop keepers smile as you pass them by, girls paddle in other boats on errands and cover their heads when you see them, kingfishers flit from tree to tree, and pops of moving color and life seems to be stopped in another century.     STAY: Sukoon House Boat 91-9910025022 EAT:  Tao Cafe SEE: Nishat Bagh, Shalimar Bagh, and Kashmir Caravans with Muzaffar Andrabi SHOP: Mahatta & Co. and Suffering Moses

As Swami Vivekananda reminded me (on a poster I found on a wall in Pondicherry), “Arise, awake and stop not till the goal is reached!” My goals for any trip are to always discover new ideas, new places, colors and textures, and upon these to meditate and ruminate until my consciousness is recharged and I feel as though I might levitate a few inches off the ground. Such was my state of mind in Pondicherry, a lovely French colonial town in the South of India. Its ashrams are framed by coconut trees, the 18th-century French quarter remains mostly intact, and its buildings are painted in dazzling yellows and pinks. The city’s mixed population includes Dravidians, Tamils, Telugu, Malayam, French Christians, Hindus and Muslims. Their cultures overlap and crowd each other, and give rise to a stew of ideas. As I reminisce about other French colonial towns I’ve seen in this hemisphere of the world, such as Phnom Penh and Vientiane, I marvel how they all manage to keep their charms amidst the madcap explosion of mixed cultures in Asia and India. In Pondicherry, I was invited into a hushed colonial library where birds flew in and out of stacks like busy librarians. I discovered a local handmade paper workshop run by fellows smiling like Bollywood stars and whose paper floated in intense, swirling baths of colors. And I stopped by local temples to make offerings to Ganesh to help me get my collection done—and it worked! My new prints are jaunty, like the Indian families I saw taking the air along the Pondicherry boardwalk—ladies with their healthy long oiled hair, dabbled with flowers, and children ricocheting about. An inspiration for metallic came to me in the form of the sparkling sun as I walked through the jungle to see the gold dome of Auroville. Varying shades of blue, a color I cannot stay away from for long, showed themselves in the deep blue Bay of Bengal, and in the nets the local fishermen drew in and out of the surf. And it was the complicated plaid lungis (men’s sarongs) so many smiling fellows were selling in the local market that gave rise to my charcoals and yellows. I am happy that each season I have a chance to seek the divine, and to somehow transform ideas and colors into prints that vibrate—and at the same time find the perfect croissant…