Natalie Gibson

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Once in Natalie’s indigenous, technicolor meets secret garden dream world, you would not want to move on. It’s one of those places in which any lover of visual stimulation might want to bury themselves, maybe even pray to come back as one of her beloved cats, maybe Cool Dude or Pansey Puff. When Lily and I walked into the home of inarguably one of the coolest couples in London, John, Natalie’s husband was blasting one of my favorite ’60′s songs, Crimson and Clover and there was an immediate bonding of spirits. John, a painter, was living in a minimal and modern aesthetic when they first met and was reluctant to become a part of what he referred to as “Natalie’s junk,” alluding to her literally endless, floor to ceiling and everywhere you turn, relics of her life that fill their house. However, it was clear that with time spent around Natalie’s inner and outer radiance, he had adapted to her explosively resplendent eye, which is reminiscent of some of her favorite post-impressionist’s like Matisse, Bonnard and Vuillard, but in three dimensions. Spectacular in it’s totality, John now uses the decor of their home as the subject matter for some of his paintings. Natalie is an artist of textile design and says that she “sees the world in pattern and color,” much like the artists she admires. She, herself, is such a compelling expression of her vivid imagination with her signature magenta mane of hair, dresses made from piles of acquired kimonos, layers of Indian and African jewelry and collector’s items of original Kenzo’s, that people apologize to her on the street when they see her for not wearing color themselves. “Heaven” is how she describes her idyllic childhood, growing up on a farm in Scottland during WWII, with her grandparents, who’s pastoral lifestyle and memorable characters loom heavily in her memories. “There were thousands of children, because the workers each had twelve kids…and about thirty cats..my grandfather use to make porridge in the mrornings…then go to the briar where the cows lived, and the cats would follow him, and they would have a nice treat of porridge and cow’s milk.” Today Natalie still has many cats. Walking into her house is like walking into the visual story of her life. From the moment you approach the front door with it’s very particular countrified shade of royal blue, set within a cottage style, moody gray stone wall, on one of the most charming cobblestone streets of Chelsea, the tale begins. If it was written in words, it would be thousands of pages long and deep.

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