Well, you should. And if it is possible to know anyone at all, then Warren Harold can be known, too. His legendary and and often heartbreakingly beautiful photoblog That…was my foot will attest to that. It kind of unfolds like a rare flower, before your eyes. And before you know it, you are tunneling toward the very center of genius, one moment of life at a time.

Chances are, if Warren has photographed you, then he knows you, as well. He would have to, to reveal you as he does. But, don’t worry, you are not alone: Warren is a sympathetic soul. He is right there with you, keeping company where you are.

You can see this in the way that he is cautiously observing and protecting the splendor and innocence of his children’s childhoods, through photography. He is sublimely attenuated to their daily lives, the frolics under a garden hose and naps in the sundrenched backseat of a car, and is particularly sensitive to the feelings and sentiments and dreams of his oldest, and only son, Nathan, who appears on the pages of Warren’s photoblog and in his gallery shows like a child-sized cipher for the artist’s very self. One that is mercurial and intelligent, like his father, but with a mind and a heart and a will of his very own. Himself a child of divorce, Warren is exquisitely — sometimes painfully — aware of what his separation from Nathan’s mother has cost his son, and so he shelters; he does his best to construct what he says was lacking in his own life, a solid fatherly presence. The square frame of his medium format vintage and toy camera photos of both his children is like a sturdy and fortified wall around the little gardens of their lives. He shares with us their golden moments, but not without the tangible presence of his own fatherly care.

He has ministered, in a way, to so many people through his photographs: to his brother, after the loss of his wife, to his mother, his children, his wife, his friends, even me. Of course, Warren wouldn’t see things this way; his ability to poke fun at himself and his wry wit just wouldn’t allow it. But, there’s no mistaking it: knowing that someone as dependable and true and honest as Warren is is out there, knowing that someone with the power to capture the Things As They Are just as they are, so that none of us lose them or forget them, is a great uplift to the careworn soul. When you realize that he has been through what you are going through — you can see it in his photographs — the realization arrives like a breath of consolation and pledge of loyalty from him.

And he is the loyalest of friends. His longtime best friend of all and partner in crime, Will Close, will likely laugh his @ss off at this whole post (tears may even come to his eyes!), because he likes to keep us all in check. But like Robin, Warren’s wife, Warren’s mama and his children, Warren’s brother, his avid fans and fellow photographers (including Yours Truly), he will know in his heart that every word is true.

So, if you don’t already know Warren Harold, well — I suggest you get to know him. Just be ready to get to know yourself a little better, too, through his unique photographic presence and view of the world.

By the nimble fingers of Jenny Lee Fowler. Your very own custom leaf silhouette portrait, in two seasonal styles: verdant Algerian Ivy or assorted hardwood leaves. Thanks, swissmiss.

J’adore JD’s decoupage trays for wall hanging from the “Relationship Series.” The typewritten trays are witty and demure, with the loose, handwritten script variety a blast of ballsy good humor à la Mame. I’ll take the lot, as a tribute to my little clung-to trinkets and larger than life ego. Get your own at John Derian Company on E 2nd St. in Manhattan.

After 7.5 months of unsuccessful house hunting, my husband and I have finally landed on an almost perfect little home for us and our nearly two year old son. Now the sleepless nights have begun: Can we afford it? Is it really all we hope for? The kitchen is ridiculously small — but the yard! And overlooking it, there is the comfy, large and nearly perfectly square room that would be just right for our son’s first bedroom of his own. There’s even enough space to squeeze another kid (or two) in there, if life permits.

So, while I while away the next few days in fretful anticipation, waiting to see what God has in the works for our little family, I continue to turn over in my mind the “nursery” (now big boy room) possibilities. I think the photo above is just the ticket…

Is it a wonder I’m in love with it? It’s a snapshot of a sunny room in a Charleston, South Carolina home, designed by mother Angie Hranowsky.

And for a little further down the line… What luck to be the little kiddies of the fabulous John Derian. Check out Madeline and Linus’ curiousity-inspiring and whimsically eclectic nest below, featuring the delightful lino prints of Hugo Guinness!

Both pics are snapped from Keira Coffee’s (love the name!) curatorial essay, “city kids rooms” on the chic-pinchable Cookie, with photography by Adam Friedberg, Matthew Hranek and Katherine Wolkoff.

Pledges of love unspoken, but true. Gorgeous Conroy & Wilcox grey diamond ring, followed by an 1880’s turquoise Victorian locket. Both on offer at Redhook’s Erie Basin. I swoon. x2.

What I’ve been up to lately — besides being a wife and mom! — that’s been keeping me from posting as often as I’d like to. Locked inside: a hint at a future project, now in the works. Stay tuned for the reveal!

[Photos © Anna Cole. All Rights Reserved.]

Breathtaking, bracing and scenic. Woods wallpaper from Cole & Sons. In the Swedish home of Elisabeth Dunker of fine little day. As seen on d*s.

Tonight the thing I cherish most of all is the sweet balm of friendship and love. There are some people whose hearts are so wide that you can easily find yourself falling into them. There are some so honest and profound that listening to them talk steals away all your unhappiness, until you have forgotten all about it. I imagine that Kristen Gale and La Marquise des Anges are such people. And there are so many others! I really must make a list, one of these sweet days…

Grace Bonney lives a charmed life. Not only does she have deep roots in The South, but she currently inhabits one of my very favorite places (and former residences), Park Slope, Brooklyn. I admit to getting a little thrill when I come across one of her tweets, where she telegraphs “ordered two boots pizza for dinner. finally giving into the delicious garlicky smells they’ve been pumping into my kitchen window for 2 yrs.” or “just returned from dashing diva. now have toes the color of a barbie dream car.” because it leads me to believe that she lives within whistlin’ distance of my old pad, just a hair downslope from Paul Auster’s place.

But, back to those deep roots. A true Southern belle, Bonney celebrates, whenever she can, things that are beautiful and feminine and Southern. Like that soul that is Eudora Welty, she seems to revel in the romance of the Southern place and its interior spaces, giving mad props in her inimitable design guides to the lovely, whimsical, and softly modern design cultures of cities like Savannah and Charlotte, NC and New Orleans (among so many others, from Berlin to Hawaii).

Putting that near-miraculous eye for pretty Southern things to our good fortune, Bonney has curated an art show for a New Hampshire studio gallery called ArtStream — somewhat autobiographically entitled “Deep South in the Northeast” — where she shows her love for some of her very favorite Southern artists, many of them Southern belles themselves.

What a shot of pretty to the heart! I fell almost instantly in love with Grace’s selections from the work of Stephanie Howard, Meryl Truett and Denise Falk. Also embracing a sartorial choice like Alabama Chanin, and the three-dimensional work of Haylie Bird Waring and Katie Runnels — as well as the pensive, Southern gothic inspired circles from the show’s only male artist, Tim Wirth — Grace Bonney has given me at least 10 more reasons to read her blog and follow her on Twitter.

Please head over to d*s for the full scoop on the show, and follow the links above for a further peek into the studios, and Southern-inflected lives, of these fine artists. And, Grace — if you are reading — thank you again for making my day so beautiful and sweet! You are a truly gracious, and bonnie, Southern girl!

Well, almost anyway. Have you seen the latest series by Dina Goldstein? Absolute genius. The image above has me written all over it, as my girls back in L.A. will attest. First, it’s titled “Snowy,” which was their favorite nickname for me. And while I have just one, well — he’s two and a boy, so…this is quite often the look on my face!

That is, when I’m not grinning from ear to ear. Because motherhood is, without any doubt, the best thing that ever happened to me. Particularly, creatively speaking. I think, to some girls without children, that will sound like a mess, but it’s true. So, true! It’s like motherhood pushed a button somewhere inside me that turned off that “please everybody” tape. Maybe it’s just a reaction to the fact that some days I don’t even have time to change out of my PJs, but, to put it mildly: I just don’t care what you think about me anymore!

See, to understand my shock and surprise at this fact — that I am about 1000 x more creative than I was before I had a baby — you have to know a little about how I came of age. The eldest daughter of an amazingly talented mother (herself an eldest daughter) who made all of my brother’s and my Halloween costumes, and who quilted amazing tapestries for our church, and who was a lauded painter at college in the 1960’s and was expected to do well in the New York art world, who worked as a photo stylist for a well-known advertising photographer, I grew up believing that being intelligent and creative was my birthright (nay, my responsibility) as a woman. But, my mother expressed some frustration, too, that, since having children, she just wasn’t able to work on things like she used to. To paint outside somewhere, to let her mind wander through her ideas and her sentiments, to concentrate deeply on these things (I’m speculating now, but I believe this is accurate.). And so — and this could just be my fault — I got this wayward impression that I should put off having kids as long as humanly possible (I cried “Uncle!” at 35), in order to preserve that creative germ within me that (Heck!) hadn’t even flowered just yet. At least, I wasn’t famous yet. I hadn’t “made it!”

And then, I gave up. “OK, I haven’t made my mark yet; I’ll just have to do it AFTER I have kids.” I felt a sinking feeling, realizing how far-fetched that sounded, but — well, whatcha gonna do? I didn’t want to wait so long to have kids that I realized too late that I, um, couldn’t.

It was worse than I am saying, because I was writing a screenplay at the time with a character for myself, who was about my age and unmarried, on the cusp of becoming something. I had wanted to rope a friend of mine into acting opposite me, in working on a modest feature film together, and I knew the moment I realized I was pregnant that I would not be able to do this while pregnant (I was nearly decimated with morning sickness when I was still thin enough to look “not pregnant.”). I started frantically doing the math, thinking (Ha!) “I will be able to slim down about 8 weeks after I give birth,” not accounting for the total lack of sleep that comes with being a new parent. I don’t know how those Hollywood starlets do it. Oh, wait, it’s called A Nanny.

Anyway, woefully unprepared for the first year of my son’s life (The horrors of eczema! Total sleeplessness!), my artistic ambitions slipped further and further onto the back burner, until one day I saw that what I had so greatly feared: Total loss of creativity was indeed upon me.

Then, the very next day, it happened. I felt like working on something “Just for fun.” I piddled around a little, and then thought of something else I might like to try. I started beefing up on areas of technical expertise that I had avoided nailing down when I was more “purely creative.” And though my personal challenges only grew and grew as the economy faltered — threatening to choke out my modest creative gains — I just bravely, or barely, or gamely, fought back, because I believed that I’d already been to Hell and back, creatively speaking. And anyway, wasn’t I a whole new woman? I felt like one anyway.

And that’s when I realized that motherhood was the best thing that had ever happened to me as an artist. Now, I don’t want to sound like I have it all figured out — oh, no. In fact, this transformation that takes place within us, when we become “Mommy,” is something I’d like to learn more about. I was thinking about starting a series of interviews, on this blog, of women I know and admire who are artists and mothers. I’d love to ask them (particularly, wildly talented and über-productive goils like Brooke Schwab or Danielle Thompson) how they balance the demands and joys of creativity and parenting so seemingly effortlessly. That is, just to get a giggle, or a look like that one in the photo above, out of them.

Please have a look at Dina Goldstein’s entire project “Fallen Princesses” on JPG. Every photo is a winner, and she has a really interesting way with what looks to be a flash photography/HDR workflow, for my girls (and boys) who like gears.

And if you are a woman (or a male!) artist, who’d like to be interviewed about how becoming a parent has changed your creative life, for a post to this blog, drop me a line at