Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Give Me "Elsewhere"





I keep coming across things I thought I posted but it seems I didn't. These are the first place where I noticed Abbey Lee Kershaw. Looking at these, they aren't her best. I don't know if they were going for a Keith Richards look, with all the scarves and the drugged facial expressions with a slight nod to the 70's in terms of styling. Nevertheless, I really like these for some reason. I think Terry Richardson really captured something here. I can't decided what it is, exactly. I think it's that she looks so bored, but unlike the bored looking people one frequently encounters at parties, she actually has somewhere better to be. Wherever that is, real or not, is somehow captured like the way a leopard in a cage is bored there, because it would rather be basking in the sun somewhere, somewhere specific it can imagine being. This strange "elsewhere" look is a guess as to how she always looks so enigmatic. 

Images via touchpuppet







Dante's Inferno Shorts




There is something so fun about shorts with Dante's inferno on them. 

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Poem No. 1

Constant oppressive nothingness, swinging back and forth between pointless excess and pointless austerity.

What’s the point of all these?

Skin tastes sweet, that’s nice.

Perfume is deep, how sensual.

An orgasm lasts a pointless second.

 It is nothing that can be accurately described.

 I have been trying for years to describe this sensation.

 I have heard of words that might come close but I have yet to encounter one.

 It evades words because one only feels it at the times when one would not think to speak.

The overwhelming feeling that there is nothing.

Not that there was something and that there is nothing now, not that.

Only that there is perfect, absolute nothing.

The nothing cups the mind, muffling all motions.

An embrace from nothing.

A dance with nothing.

The nothing caresses me at all times.

When I play dead I am one with the nothing. 

When I get sad I play dead.

I am soothed by the nothing.

 I can feel my own skin and smell my own scent.

 I smell like almonds, earth, fur and death my scent intermingles with the scent of the nothing.

I can taste the nothing.

Between pointless belief and pointless skepticism.

Between pointless love and pointless hate.

 I embrace the nothing.

Between pointless agony and pointless euphoria.

 I never approach these, they are pointless.

 I stay in the pointless middle at all times.

 Shrouded in pointless meaning.

Pointlessness cannot be pointless. 

That is the diabolical center.

 The ones who are alone can feel the nothing like this.

 Enjoy the motions themselves because there is nothing beyond.

 Take pleasure in the powders and the salts and the oils and the spices.

 Design the method to be beautiful because the end cannot be.

 Delight in the down and the leather and velvet.

 Revel in the nothing.

 Practice what you understand, go over it again.

 The argument becomes refined silt in a river of unproductive endless dueling.

 So refined it slip through, every time.

No one catches it.

 I never say fewer than three things at one time, each carefully polished.

I’m lucky if someone hears one.  

Very rare.

God cannot help me because I suspect the nothingness have overtaken it too.

Do you remember colors?

My headache has eaten all the colors.

Everything becomes boredom inducing with time.

Even the pursuit of new things becomes tedious.

Boredom occasionally represents the missing word, the one I keep refereeing to as nothing but only faintly, only the outer dimensions.


Not the face.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

DSTM Boutique: Fantastique










































This aesthetic needs an official name. I'm sure someone thought of one already but they didn't let me know. The trademarks are minimalistic bdsm inspired clothes, sumptuous but shabby decor, sparse antiques, vague suggestion of a ritual, all female cast, nighttime atmosphere. I would really love to style one of these. How about we call it "black leather in random European mansion", "Betty Page & friends" or we can name it after a Hammer film... but which one? 

photos via dirtyflaws







Sunday, March 16, 2014

Alone in This




Photographer: Jennifer Avello Model: Monika Tarnowski, Stylist: Matt Kasin, Nasty Magazine, July 2011.  via Touchpuppet. I am not crazy about the sunglasses (I guess they have the same function as a veil) but I do like the Louise Brooks in the 80's look. If Pandora's Box had been remade in the 80's these would have been the costumes, especially the last ones with the mesh. I am not sure what the black post it notes are about but I like them, covering something with those for a prank would add a whole new level of strangeness, I guess (pranksters take note).

 




What do you think? Or am I the only one who thinks of these things?


Erin Wasson in Malta








The weather is still dismal in New England. I'm not going anywhere for spring break but I wouldn't mind going to Malta, where Erin Wasson was photographed wearing some subdued but usable pieces by Madwell. I plucked these from honestlywtf.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Black & Gold










The Golden Age –  Plaza Kvinna  Photography Martin Peterssonstyled by Kawa H Pour,  Model Henrietta Hellberg  / Hair by Tony Lundström, Makeup by Helen Borg source.

Is black and gold still a thing? I hope it will be a thing forever. Gold hardware looks more lux than silver and is more complementary for yellow skin tone people, like myself. I don't think I will ever get tired of the combination. Also, I like the monocle earrings she has, nice play on hoops. 



Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Shoes and Peonies



































I guess Louboutin has decided to try the same thing as Valentino (see my previous post) using accessories as part of a still-life. I am currently reading Worldly Goods: A New History of the Renaissance by Lisa Jardine and this makes more sense than one might guess. It is not so much that consumer objects (shoes) are elevated to the status of "art", here, it's more that art itself is a supremely  luxurious consumer item and these are being elevated to that level, that is, a higher level of consumer object. 
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