Prospect Refuge Studio Journal: January

In the darkest months of year we reach for light, warmth and refuge. Our winter time is inherently monastic and links us to the rhythm of the Earth's brevity. Follow us on our visual journey of collected ideals, creatures of the sea and discover a poem from a small voice that lives inside the Earth.

-Prospect Refuge Studio

Prospect Refuge Studio- Interior Design



Neolithic to Modern. The amphora is being spotted outside luxury retreats and inside residential homes. The lingering wheel-thrown terra-cotta containers were once utilized for domestic use in the Roman Republic home. Masterfully decorated to exist table side, the silhouette was one of function for the contents would have been for wine or other dry goods. The amphorae have preserved themselves in their own right and have become a principle motif in vessel design. 



In a world of fast fashion lifestyle conglomerates, heritage becomes even more of a luxury. At PRS we crave the resonance of the past and tradition. The recently revived Buly 1803 label delivers just that. Jean-Vincent Bully built his ethos around the Ancien Régime interests, motivations and aromatic preferences. A company that truly embraces the virtue of natural ingredients. 

Prospect Refuge Studio- Interior Design


Fruit de mer, has earned an auspicious place on our dinner table and hearts. Famed by some, disregard by others and endorsed by one, Giacomo Girolamo Casanova. Oysters have chiseled their way to the top of the list of aphrodisiacs by their ability to create; Create pearls and create femininity. All oysters start off as male and 90% of the time become female. During their lifetime they have the ability to go from one sex to another and regress back again. Love them or leave them, the purity of the oyster is infallible.

For fresh shucked oysters, try visiting The Lexington in St. Paul, MN

Prospect Refuge Studio- Interior Design



Byron the Earthworm

An earthworm's home you wouldn't like

It's cold and damp and full of night

Still, It's where I am and can only be,

When I scribble and wiggle hope you see,

How hard to write immortal poetry,

While watching out for greedy birdies,

When rains wash me along the gutters,

Helplessly drowning, my heart flutters,

Suddenly  over the  gutter crawl,

And burrow into earth under garden wall,

In darkness may live, but full of light,

Fearing rain, but still scribble in delight,

In humility offer these  poetic scribbles,

Penned with few words and lots of wiggles.