It was a dream.
A place of faded crumpled walls scarred by hurt and silent heros.

I inhaled the earth’s humid brownness. I saw where passion flared, tears fell and feet marked buckled flagstones. I ran my hand over its dank walls. ‘Why is the old, withered, and worn torn asunder’ I wondered? How is a past be so easily erased by concrete chewing bulldozers. My fingers paused, feeling for the casa’s faint pulse. A sun splinter scuttled up a distant staircase. Lifting her beaten head she whispered quietly ’Oh to be loved once again’. And I know I heard her. Deeply, vividly, so clearly inside my dream.

It’s my lookbook of dreams, maybe soon a reality. So i’m off to Puerta Vallarta to walk hilly streets and buy a house no one wants, While I research, here’s the game plan. The casa’s heritage must stay intact, but inside will be become a Mediterranean Mexican mashup. Warm earth tones, hand-woven carpets, rattan and local art meets exposed concrete, where Mexican folklore is integrated with classic modernism.

I envisage artisanal Tadelakt plasterwork, curved destructured walkways leading to lounge-y post lunch naps, shuttered breezes and orgy of texture to behold. Never overwhelming, just boldly soulful, i’m going slightly rogue. Raw meets refined. I’m taking
a salty plunge into wabi sabi zen, hand carved timbers, ancient trades, local artists and bringing Frieda poolside.


Photo & source credits: Mittelmeer Moderne, Society 6, CB2, Studio MK2, Marcio Kogan, Allred Collaborative, Jean Luc Leloux, Ksenia Bortsova, Switch