Anyone who lives in England knows we can’t rely on much of a summer. So inevitably we start daydreaming of another life—a terra-cotta-hued backdrop of meadow grasses, a big leafy tree providing pockets of shade, women stretched out on the banks, dancing, reading, sleeping.
Matisse, the master of cutouts, once declared, “I will make myself my own pool” when filling his entire room at the Régina hotel, in Nice, with splashing, paddling forms in the creation of The Swimming Pool. So after another gray-skied day in the U.K., I thought I would make myself my own summer.
