Endless Summer: Upstate
Endless Summer: Upstate
Lisa Przystup at home and in the Western Catskills for Anaak
— Speaking of her book: Upstate: Living Spaces with Space to Live
Our adventures at home and on our land have been quotidian in nature—a series of small discoveries and quiet moments: finding a patch of morel mushrooms, stumbling upon a beautifully flowering apple tree, toads underfoot in the early summer, a fox sighting here and there, looking out our kitchen window to see a gamboling fawn (spots and all) zipping back and forth from our garden to a thicket, spying grasshoppers balancing on a string of globe lights, watching fireflies, listening to peepers and crickets and cicadas, building fires, watching raccoon babies tumbling and waddling (and charming our pants off), and hacking back a bramble of bushes to reveal a stone grill are just some of the moments that stand out.
The overarching project of owning a house teaches you to be patient and thoughtful in your choices as well as being open to the reality that your home is constantly evolving, which stands to reason since we're all constantly evolving as people.
Summer will forever be my favorite season. It always feels like a sweeping miracle when everything comes back to life after what came sometimes be 7 months of winter. Everything opens up. Everything is thriving, living, breathing, talking and the possibilities seem endless. The green closes in and holds you in its lush, generous arms.
My favorite summer moments are simple: eating dinner outside; opening all the window and filling the house with fresh air; listening to the crickets and frogs; watching fireflies, moths, grasshoppers and butterflies; hosting friends and family; lazy days and pond swims; walking into town to load up our bags with farmer's market finds and cooking dinner with them; eating peaches and tomatoes so juicy and flavorful that it feels indecent.
When we lived in the city I read more frequently thanks to the subway—you have a dedicated space where you're a captive audience: no cell service (for the most part), you're often commuting alone—the subway was the primary reason I finished as many New Yorker issues and books as I did.
There was a wonderful magic to each of the homes in the book—yes, they're beautiful spaces but the real beauty comes from the stories of the people and the stories behind the pieces and things they surround themselves with.
Take, for example, Andrea Gentl and Martin Hyers hallway curio that houses "anything that wants to be there," from a lock of their daughter's hair to bird nests to drawings and maps. Or Simon Lince and Cary Leibowitz’s streamer strewn ceiling (leftovers from a holiday party from years and years ago)— the moments I was drawn to the most were the ones born from experiences, moments in time stood still and preserved.
— Feelings on the Anaak shoot:
Chloe is so wonderful to work with. She's an amazing talent and works fast, which I think is part of the reason she's able to so deftly capture honest moments—it gives you less time to posture and overthink how you might be presenting yourself in the moment. It doesn't hurt that we get along well, too. Shooting with her feels more like play— we both respect and validate what each of us brings to the table so it always feels like a true collaboration. Anaak pieces always make me feel lighter and floatier— Marissa's designs have such dreamy, dynamic movement that translates directly to how one moves when they're wearing them. The simplest movements feel like a sort of choreography, poetic, even. Strides are wider, arms are looser. They mimic the way fabric moves underwater, which is so incredibly special.