December 2009
44 posts
“We do what our inner voices tell us. We’re kind of the Joan of Arcs of...”
– Karl Lagerfeld on his team and the Spring 2010 line in this season’s WWD Collections.
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My grandmother’s lake house. I’ve got wanderlust. She’s got interesting things like this:
and this
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Reed+Radar
One of the first shoots I ever styled was with photographers Matthew Radar and Pamela Reed. It was somewhere around 2005, really dark with blacks and creams, pops of burgundy. Their studio slash apartment was in some BFE factory area of Brooklyn, quite scary with loads of stuffed animals, can goods and white couches. There were cats. The duo themselves weren’t scary though. They were...
Confession
I sometimes always love eating snacks newly bought from the grocery in my car. I do this because I’m starving and no one can bother me and I love listening to NPR. Usually sushi. And pita chips. With NPR.
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I was thinking today how the experience of music has evolved from an auditory experience to an auditory and visual one, with music videos and theatrical concerts lending images to notes, plays to words. I wondered if it would continue to grow, morphing into a holistic experience with sounds being felt somehow in a tactile manner. I would like to taste E sharp. For an example.
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The word for kiss and candle is the same in Polish and French: bougie
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Holy Christ I can't breathe! Funny fun times. →
“Art captures a moment in an artist’s life that might otherwise be forgotten.”
– Hirona Matsuda in this week’s Preview
Going home, driving
Memories are bending.
The present dictates that senses operate under assigned organs. The past however allows for revolt, mutiny even, when former things are recalled in the present.
In a memory, a body can taste the smell of Christmas pines and feel the sensation of soup. Sound waves step in front of light, weaving musical tapestry images of slopes, snowy houses and skies. Driving, touch...
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Look what these birds do.
The man bird is very artsy and carpenter like. He goes about weaving and building houses in collaboration with other bird builders to make very impressive high rise apartment complexes made from branches and the like. Each house is totally different from his neighbors’ in order to impressive lady bird friends.
When the lady birds choose a man friend...
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Moral of the Story: Texas Eats People
I enjoy receiving loads of unsolicited familial advice.
Mostly it has naught to do with any real life predicament, but a fantastical, hypothetical situation unrelated to me in the least. This makes paying attention far easier.
Take for example, the newest jewel arriving to my inbox this weekend:
“another reason why u may not like texas. they have now found a flesh eating parasite in...
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Balloons Eternals
I gasped when first seeing Clémentine Henrion’s Helium Eternal (balloons éternels) via July Stars.
The forever ever shimmering zepplins were inspired by childhood memories of “magnificent, brightly shining” balloons that tragically deflated within a few days. In retaliation, Henrion began hand crafting immortal fabric clones “which would fly forever and never go down...
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Mister Mann Love
Man loving jewels!
I first came across designer Zelda Beauchampet through her incredible “handscape” rings shown on thefallingoftherain. It took me hours to track Beauchampet down (ahem, rain falls-no link), but it was worth it.
Not only did I discover a new accessory obsession (They mix and match! They stand up! Ah!), but a whole arsenal of quirky Dutch design. This gal...
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L'eau
Underwater photography is spellbinding.
It evokes otherworldly, Opheliac images of mystery, quiet and transcendance. There’s something mystical about figures mocking gravity’s grip, playing where time slows down.
Fashion publications agree. The following photos are from recent editorials featured in SO’ CHiC and DT magazine.
Boris Ovini’s “Jellyfish”...
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Morning
“Ahm feelen cawreyjos”, he says pointing gloved hands at no one, eyes blazing as he talked to the corner wall.
“Ah know lives gawnah git goodah en goodah.” A Gullah lilt raises like dawn the ends of each revelation.
“Cawse tha sun gawnah rise tuhdey jas like it gawnah rise everdey. Yes sir. That son ALHWEYS gawnah rise.”
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To me, you're still organic
“It’s the seismomachines.” she said breathless, tears running down her face. “I SAID IT’S THE SEISMOMACHINNNEEEESSSS!!”
Wailing, features contort into long established rivulets of skin and wrinkles and pain, etched like canyons from years of unyielding streams. The room grows static with tension of people unseen, voices unheard, the effects of unreal...