Picture imperfect
The Interior Design Show is an annual event that brings together the world’s best interior designers, decorators, architects and builders in one convention space, while showcasing the newest and most innovative ideas of residential, commercial and industrial design.
One of the highlights of the show is a living space, this time constructed by the Diamante Corporation and designed by Brian Gluckstein, Canada’s most famous interior designer.
The model suite is tailored and elegant – staples of the design firm. There are sumptuous furnishings and fabrics, glossy finishes on woods and cabinets, and slate flooring throughout, punctuated with wool carpets.
Upon entry, there is a living room, to the left is an office, further down is a compact kitchen and around the corner is an indoor water feature, with a functioning fireplace, floating in the centre.
With my camera in hand, I take the occasional photo of the space although it’s difficult with the scads of people walking in front of the viewing field.
As I turn around to get an alternate angle of the living room, my shoe gets caught on one of the rough edges of the slate floor and I fall forward. My body flies several feet and the camera slips out of my hand, hitting the wall and breaking into several pieces.
While my body lies splayed on the floor, a pair of picture perfect and polished brown shoes stops in front of my face. As I look up, I see Brian Gluckstein, immaculately tailored like his interiors.
“My camera… I broke my camera,” I say on the verge of tears, pointing to the wall.
He looks down at me, gives me a pitying look and walks away.
Slowly, I get up and brush myself off. I walk up to the camera, kneel down and pick it up off the floor. It’s in several pieces. As I’m trying to put it back together, I walk towards a woman who works as a representative for the builder.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but do you happen to have a rubber band?” I pinch my index finger and thumb of my right hand together, forming a small claw. “My camera just fell and broke and I need something to hold it together.”
She gives me a puzzled look, but after looking at sad eyed expression on my face, she turns around and dives into a display cabinet, pulls out a packet of business cards, rips off the rubber band and hands it to me.
“Thank you. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”
“It’s no problem.” She’s disappointed because I didn’t ask her about financing on a 500 square-foot, $250,000 condo.
After packing up the camera, I turn around, once again, and take a look at the beautifully-designed model suite. Even though I can never get the image of a Canadian design icon seeing my body splayed across the floor, it was a picture imperfect day.
Note: To those north of the 49th parallel, have a great - Canadian - Thanksgiving. To those who live elsewhere, sorry about having to go to work on Monday.
One of the highlights of the show is a living space, this time constructed by the Diamante Corporation and designed by Brian Gluckstein, Canada’s most famous interior designer.
The model suite is tailored and elegant – staples of the design firm. There are sumptuous furnishings and fabrics, glossy finishes on woods and cabinets, and slate flooring throughout, punctuated with wool carpets.
Upon entry, there is a living room, to the left is an office, further down is a compact kitchen and around the corner is an indoor water feature, with a functioning fireplace, floating in the centre.
With my camera in hand, I take the occasional photo of the space although it’s difficult with the scads of people walking in front of the viewing field.
As I turn around to get an alternate angle of the living room, my shoe gets caught on one of the rough edges of the slate floor and I fall forward. My body flies several feet and the camera slips out of my hand, hitting the wall and breaking into several pieces.
While my body lies splayed on the floor, a pair of picture perfect and polished brown shoes stops in front of my face. As I look up, I see Brian Gluckstein, immaculately tailored like his interiors.
“My camera… I broke my camera,” I say on the verge of tears, pointing to the wall.
He looks down at me, gives me a pitying look and walks away.
Slowly, I get up and brush myself off. I walk up to the camera, kneel down and pick it up off the floor. It’s in several pieces. As I’m trying to put it back together, I walk towards a woman who works as a representative for the builder.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but do you happen to have a rubber band?” I pinch my index finger and thumb of my right hand together, forming a small claw. “My camera just fell and broke and I need something to hold it together.”
She gives me a puzzled look, but after looking at sad eyed expression on my face, she turns around and dives into a display cabinet, pulls out a packet of business cards, rips off the rubber band and hands it to me.
“Thank you. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”
“It’s no problem.” She’s disappointed because I didn’t ask her about financing on a 500 square-foot, $250,000 condo.
After packing up the camera, I turn around, once again, and take a look at the beautifully-designed model suite. Even though I can never get the image of a Canadian design icon seeing my body splayed across the floor, it was a picture imperfect day.
Note: To those north of the 49th parallel, have a great - Canadian - Thanksgiving. To those who live elsewhere, sorry about having to go to work on Monday.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
7 Comments:
Sorry about the fall. But now you can shop for a new camera!
Ouch. Isn't it nice when people with fame take such interest in others?
Look at it this way, you got to see the space. Is there anyway you can buy a disposable one and go back?
A condo for $250,000? Man, that's cheap. I need to move up there. A condo here in my little Po-dunk town goes for $370,000.
is this story true? if so, I am sorry about the camera.
I mean, you may have imagined being sprawled out on the floor in front of him ... just not like that!
Torn: The camera was fixed (and cost almost as much as a cheap digital).
JUS: Thankfully, the roll was saved. The condo price wasn't of the model suite, but of a teeny-tiny little hole with no features (I think you had to pay extra for windows and plumbling).
Indy: Sadly, it happened. In person it was worse, since I didn't add in sound-effects.
Six: God no.
jesus!
Not your type? (I have no idea who he is so I don't know what he looks like.)
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