This is a fantastic looking collection, I'm absolutely loving the story and the theme behind it. You can read all about it from Ji's view below. Enjoy!
"Finding a home away from home is not an easy feat, but my husband and I located ours in St. Barts. In the off-season, sans jetsetters, this is a serene island—pure paradise. Last August, we rented a villa and indulged in our outdoor grill obsession with a zesty appetite we lack at home. We cooked insouciantly, ran to the early morning local fish market, devoured our books, enjoyed leisurely swims, and walked the tranquil empty beach while watching the sunset.
During our last week on our own patch of azure, we drove to the supermarket for a routine shop, but something was in the air. There was a frantic energy that we had never before witnessed. I felt the scattered chaotic rhythms of energy throughout the island. The line at the gas station was alarmingly insane. There were speeding cars everywhere. The supermarket parking lot was overflowing and carts emerging from the store were fully loaded with cases of wine, cartons of cigarettes, wheels of cheese, and spears of baguettes. Indoors, the fracas continued and we were informed that Hurricane Earl was coming. We both said in unison, "Here?"
At that very moment, I envisioned scenes from CNN: boarded-up plywood, evacuations, and my husband and I clinging to the top of a roof somewhere. I am the epitome of a cowardly Manhattanite and my inner dramatic stage director’s heart started to beat to the rhythms of Igor Stravinsky's L'Oiseau de Feu (The Fire Bird). The opening of his riveting ballet has a hypnotic syncopation of unpredictable beats with the trilling of flutes and piccolos coupled with a chatter-like string section. The honking brass section mirrored the hysteria of this once peaceful island. I had to curb my dramatic imagination as our survival mode kicked in and we joined the fracas to shop like the French.
Once back at the villa, the owner greeted us with emergency necessities and instructions. Clearly, we were lucky to experience the hurricane in St.Barts because they are the hurricane specialists. All the metal gates in the villa were on a remote. We only had one exit door from the kitchen where the electricity was out. The wind started to howl irksomely, just like Stravinsky’s French horns and bassoons. Sheepishly, I peeked out the door and the beauty of the storm startled me.
I was mesmerized by the colors of a romantic and moody sky, the exotic rhythms of the wind, the nuance of different cadences as well as the unpredictable tempo of the raindrops. In my mind, a serenade by The Firebird kept me company. I stood for hours just absorbing the perpetual metamorphosis of colors that changed in the sky."
During our last week on our own patch of azure, we drove to the supermarket for a routine shop, but something was in the air. There was a frantic energy that we had never before witnessed. I felt the scattered chaotic rhythms of energy throughout the island. The line at the gas station was alarmingly insane. There were speeding cars everywhere. The supermarket parking lot was overflowing and carts emerging from the store were fully loaded with cases of wine, cartons of cigarettes, wheels of cheese, and spears of baguettes. Indoors, the fracas continued and we were informed that Hurricane Earl was coming. We both said in unison, "Here?"
At that very moment, I envisioned scenes from CNN: boarded-up plywood, evacuations, and my husband and I clinging to the top of a roof somewhere. I am the epitome of a cowardly Manhattanite and my inner dramatic stage director’s heart started to beat to the rhythms of Igor Stravinsky's L'Oiseau de Feu (The Fire Bird). The opening of his riveting ballet has a hypnotic syncopation of unpredictable beats with the trilling of flutes and piccolos coupled with a chatter-like string section. The honking brass section mirrored the hysteria of this once peaceful island. I had to curb my dramatic imagination as our survival mode kicked in and we joined the fracas to shop like the French.
Once back at the villa, the owner greeted us with emergency necessities and instructions. Clearly, we were lucky to experience the hurricane in St.Barts because they are the hurricane specialists. All the metal gates in the villa were on a remote. We only had one exit door from the kitchen where the electricity was out. The wind started to howl irksomely, just like Stravinsky’s French horns and bassoons. Sheepishly, I peeked out the door and the beauty of the storm startled me.
I was mesmerized by the colors of a romantic and moody sky, the exotic rhythms of the wind, the nuance of different cadences as well as the unpredictable tempo of the raindrops. In my mind, a serenade by The Firebird kept me company. I stood for hours just absorbing the perpetual metamorphosis of colors that changed in the sky."
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