Bright star, would I were stedfast

I suppose if you asked me what my favorite stores are, Anthropologie would land squarely at the top of the list. It's been a rare occasion when I walked into one of their stores and didn't want to walk out with an armload of clothes, shoes, housewares, you name it. So it's really no surprise that I'm equally taken with their new inspiration themed site, the Anthropologist. According to the site it is "an online space for inspiring works and inspiring individuals... a testament to the idea that revealing the passions of one person can result in the progress of many."

One of the first installations on the site is the work of Jane Campion, director of the John Keats movie, Bright Star. I've always been fascinated by all of the minute details that go into the making of a period movie. This collection from Campion shows just how much thought goes into each and every tiny thing; from something as small as recreating period handwriting to something as large as decorating street scenes.


But my favorite part of the collection has to be the collection of locations photographs from the Director of Photography. He would wander into the woods then photograph the light as it changed throughout the day in order to get to know the light. Amazing. The photos look like they could have been ripped from the pages of an editorial. I wasn't familiar with the movie before coming across this collection but now I'm determined to see it.



Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art---
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors---
No---yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever---or else swoon in death.

- John Keats, 1819