THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

For Shame

2010-07-29T17:34:00.003+10:00

I don't have a 'type'.

You could be thin, thick. Tall, short. Grumpy, optimistic. Musically inclined, or creatively challenged. Curly hair, crew cut. Dark-skinned, or as pale as the driven snow. Green-eyes or albino...it's all the same to me. Truly.

For me, it's all about your 'swagger'. The sense. The vibe. The confidence, or maybe slight lack-of...

It's true. I don't go for looks at all. I never have. . . . .

That was until i saw the above Margiela campaign, and in turn - a VERY attractive man.*.

I'm sorry. Vapid. Insipid. Unoriginal.
I know.... but can you blame me? Don't judge me. I'm only human after all.

*N.B. Gratuitous eye candy...(ugh, i absolutely make myself sick sometimes.)

AMOUROUS

2010-07-19T17:52:00.006+10:00

ahhh lust. that wonderful emotion that gets such a bad rap. often a case of mistaken identity.
"but i LOVE him..."
no. you just have excellent sex. there's a rather large difference...

more addictive than any drug. harder to control than any relationship. torturous to your very core.
a lust-driven love affair is not to be taken lightly*.

it'll wrap it's sticky fingers around you, and hold on for dear life. you'll leave behind your friends, and throw all rationality out, for he'll promise you the world in those spectacularly joyous moments.

i've discovered that i'm nothing but a fool for it. not willing to exercise any form of moderation, i like the torture. the obsessiveness. the drama. and the passion.

if i didn't, i would have remained in my safe, loving, predictable long-term relationship.

he stood me up. and i mean good & proper. like, i stood in the middle of the CBD in the freezing cold, alone, waiting for him as we had planned. for TWO HOURS. eventually i resorted to redialing his number incessantly.

and though i was mad as hell, and sat seething in the lonely taxi home.... it's sick to admit it...i loved it.
no-one does that to me! who the hell did he think he was, doing that, treating me that way? people are mostly considerate and honest with me, and they respect me.

my reputation as a 'successful' business woman precedes me, so some people are intimidated and cautious towards me, especially men. i find that totally and utterly ridiculous of course, because the truth of the matter is, i'm a touch whacky and incredibly down-to-earth, really. and those who know me would attest. occasionally freakish, but mostly solid as a rock.

quietly, if i'm to be really honest, being treated differently made me feel incredibly alive. to NOT know what to do, or how to feel, and to wonder like that...my god! talk about intense.

women's magazines are always trying to explicate to you every tiny emotion, like we're vapid zombies or unable to handle the world without constant verification of our every thought & decision - banging on about "how to know if he likes you", "how to tell if you have great sex", "how to get him to commit"...

bugger that.

who cares if he likes you? do YOU like YOU? if you do, what else does it matter?

great sex? dear me. i'll tell you, if you aren't getting strange sexy shivers the next day when you think about the fiendish things you did together (and it's definitely not herpes), then it probably wasn't worth the couple of bucks you paid for the scented candles and extra thin condoms, that's how you tell.

commitment....hmmm. i have not the answer to this one, except to say who gives a flying f***?

what's the big deal about wanting to find just ONE one?
i mean really?
am i so jaded? bitter? i don't think i am at all. in fact, i don't think i've ever felt so great, so happy, so supported and so excited about right now.

this 'fling' brought out the best in me. and the worst. but whatever, whichever, it conjured up emotions and feelings that generally lay carefully tucked away. and to this wretched, wicked, stunningly beautiful man i'm eternally grateful. (..and still reeling..)

anyway. all i'm saying is, i wish the opposite sex would find each other together now and then without expectation and social conditioning, and look at things slightly less seriously.
we don't have to get married at twenty-two, have three kids, and wait for our husbands to come home for a foot rub anymore. take heed of this freedom...

go out and purposely get involved in a tumultuous romping good thing. be brazen. do bad things. say bad things.

you're going to get hurt. for sure. you'll get hurt cooking dinner too. or doing yoga. or playing the bass guitar.
hell, i know it's mental out there, but give yourself a little license to loosen up. there's a whole world of incredible, tangled, tantalizing fun to be found.

and if you never let yourself be had, or manhandled, or mistreated (somewhat), how will you ever know what it is you're NOT looking for?

i'm telling you, the worst relationship you ever have, might just be the best lust you EVER had.

* a lie

Stella

2010-07-01T16:15:00.004+10:00

You know i don't usually remark too often on fashion, for fashion's sake.

BUT. I just caught some images of stella mccartney's resort collection, and...
I'm really smitten.

I like it. A lot.
It's wearable, edgy, romantic, womanly, simple, and perfectly structured. And the colour palate and print is perfection.

Sharp Tooth

2010-06-22T12:44:00.011+10:00

(sound of raucous cheers). thank you thank you. i know... it's been quite the hiatus. i think like two whole months? no, wait. three whole months. woopsie. that's a while. sorry...

so, let's see. in all that time, here's what happened:

fashion week - arnsdorf, karla spetic, gary bigeni & gail sorronda all showed their spring /summer 2010/11 collections and won the hearts and minds of many a buyer and fashion editor (not to mention blogger). smiles all 'round.

new clients - magdalena velevska, billy bride, provensen... each wondrous in their own rights.

weekends away - blue mountains, bundanoon. beige food. records. red, red wine. glow worms. mercedes benz. fingerless gloves. whiskey. clifftops. laughing at /with locals. face paint. warmth. cameras. cold nose. ipod. open fire. convoy. rhubarb & apple crumble. wood & glass. world cup. sexy eyes. norwegian blankets. fillet o' fish. giggling. not enough sleep. long johns. 3d. japanese garden. shared showers. pies. jeff buckley. dancing insects. private moments. under floor heating. indoor bbq. couples. macbook pro. airplane mode. cheese.

audiophile - new (vintage) sonab record player. new (vintage) b&w speakers. new (vintage) sansui amplifier. new (old) roland electric piano. new (awesome) band. new (stupendous) record collection. new DJ'ing hobby. discogs.

romance - red. all nighters. long hair. white. skateboard. ching-a-lings. angst. blue. too many phone calls. black. torture. naughty picture. dirty. tears. soft-core porn. walk home. awe. drive my car. new tattoo. don&johnson. lips. brighton up. not enough buttons. pretty fuckin' nakos. breakfasts. funny mouth shapes. strange bruises. flowers (picked, bought, & offered). promises. back rooms. TAXI! cigarettes. bar carving. service station. harbour bridge. little notes. secrets. toilet cubicle. advice. strange dusty party. auto-return.

best-friends - pink. rollies. stripes. bathroom ghetto blaster. k. beads. cricketers. unborn baby... girl? salad. mitchell road auctions. ash & wally. parmigiana. lesbians. triptych. little eyelashes. podwar. markets. knitting. hypnotism. adriana. raf simons for dr martins. not you naan bread. bicycles. lots of bicycles. jennykim. mackenzies. two-up. canopy choirs. uchi lounge. berlin. owl ring. the winter of our discontent. love heart necklace. picnic. bellevue hill. 1st birthday's. orange peel. cat poo. high five. big hair. raw food. redfern. heart tattoo. flinders. a patch of skye. the mighty boosh. red onion. tacos. the nullabor. club med. walks through rough terrain. i'm on a boat. atlantis. yum cha. woollahra. art. motorcycles. mint leaf tea. pvt. almond milk. new york. stupid warehouse party. muesli. red hair. cement.

miscellaneous - stockings. mechanic. olie & yoko & akira. dries van noten. odette. terrace house. grapefruit juice. eric omen. moysey. introductions. phil. sydney film festival. benah. winter swims. big houses. marcus. hammer & chisel. mind games. dandelion tea. grey hair. china heights. rain. daniel. monster children gallery. john steinbeck. domain.com.au. nana & papa. lane cove. MCA. meg & ren. engagements. arnsdorf. bass guitar. bree. sashimi. tige taylor-bear. succulents. razorhurst. nat wood. sixt car hire. size 8. hot water bottle. brabs. acret. decisions. serps. rozelle markets. bikram. yarndie. a diamond. migraine. cockatoo island. loose joints. straightening irons. dress up. ebay. coconut water. dj booth. ferries. cracked iphone. rescue remedy. chipped tooth.

Modern Love

2010-03-30T10:46:00.003+11:00

Dear iTunes,

I wanted to just write and say how much i love you. Often, i sit and ponder my childhood, and weep nostalgically for all the simple pleasures that no longer exist.

Why, only yesterday i had a minor flashback to my childhood, to a time when hiding behind my door, playing blocks. yes, blocks, would keep happy for hours on end.

These days it's all so complicated. Plans have to be elaborate, and carefully executed for enjoyment to ensue.

But, thank god for you iTunes. You're my ultimate indulgence. My simplest entertainment.

Sure, you've literally sucked my wallet dry.

I believe that i, alone, keep our economy afloat with my expenditure, refusing to illegally download my songs, mostly because i get so exasperated when they take so bloody long.

But you, Itunes, you're so reliable, and exciting. When you work your genius magic, i receive happy little surprises. When you show me how long since i played a good song, you remind me to enjoy it once again.

You show me the multitude of lyrical mastery, and often assist me when i'm lost for words.

But, my favourite favourite feature by far, is your ability to create playlists and burn them for friends... and vice versa.

Would it be wrong to get so inspirited by merely receiving a mixtape that's simply perfect in every way?

I don't want to call it love (i have a modern, new philosophy about love that perhaps i'll share sometime), more lust.

It's like you, dear iTunes, receive gratification through being lovingly penetrated by the new importation of robust aural pleasure.

When someone sends me a file filled with melodic treats, i offer you a little flirtatious wink as i press the 'open' button, allowing the new music to move limberly across to its perfect position between albums.

I can feel you trembling with anticipation as they are accepted wholly, and you and i both know it's just a matter of time before they explode in a joyous resounding harmony from deep within my imac speakers.

Oh, how i long for constant new ways to please you. Greedily i devour your music store, and blogs searching for fresh delights. But if i can be honest - truly, i prefer when there's a third person.

When that wonderful, open minded, and excitable third person sacrifices their modesty and offers their warmth to us, whether by cd, or by yousend it, well baby - that's my delight.

Call me promiscuous, but iTunes, you, me and another make three, and i don't ever want this devilish pleasure to stop.

Yours in constant aural arousal,

Evie x

Marching Powder

2010-03-11T18:05:00.004+11:00

So, it's the 11th day of March, and thus far it's been fairly dry. Well, no. The first day of Autumn was wet and cold, but lovers, i ain't talkin weather...

I have a good feeling that something's afoot. And to celebrate that potential fact, i've created another joyful, soulful, sexual mixture of aural pleasure.

DOWNLOAD it HERE.

I hope you like it. I call it it'sasexymixcauseit'smarch.

01. she's mine - the frowning clouds

02. for your love - the yardbirds

03. keep me hangin' on - vanilla fudge

04. bus stop - the hollies

05. lady day and john coltrane - gil scott-heron

06. dr feelgood - aretha franklin

07. light my fire - al green

08. she's not there - the zombies

09. summertime - sam cooke

10. baby baby - val bennett

11. title music (from Merchant Ivory's Film "Bombay Talkie") - shankar-jaikishan

12. metche dershe - mulatu astatqe

13. sweet surrender - tim buckley

Happy earballing lovers.

p.s. please feel welcome to post requests or feedback, and fan-mail can be directed to my other website: www.i'vegotticketsonmyself.com

FANTASTIC (WO) MAN

2010-03-10T10:06:00.003+11:00

I don't often report on things pertaining to world fashion. I'm usually too (self) obsessed to think about what else might be happening to comment.

But, when this appeared in my google reader, i was compelled to mention it. I actually am excited about a new magazine. It's crazy, but true.

There are so few good ones out there, and in the past year we've seen so many of the top notch reads disappear, i guess it's just good to know that there are some clever people that still have enough faith in their abilities to keep on keeping on.

So, without further ado, i give you - THE GENTLEWOMAN .

Celine’s creative director, Phoebe Philo, gets the (perfectly designed) cover honors for the launch issue of The Gentlewoman, the sister magazine to Dutch title Fantastic Man that hits newsstands on March 22.

Inside is a profile of Philo and a shoot by David Sims, styled by Camilla Nickerson with the designer posing in her own clothes and both vintage and current Celine looks. “It’s about modernity and women that are just fantastic,” said Penny Martin, the biannual magazine’s editor in chief.

“Phoebe was very candid about herself, her mother and silhouette and inspirations.” The 148-page launch issue also features a profile on American artist Jenny Holzer, with portraits of the artist taken by Wolfgang Tillmans.

There are also feature articles on DJ Princess Julia, open water swimmer Lynne Cox, winemaker Sara Perez and Kazuyo Sejima, the Japanese architect and the first woman to be appointed as director of the architecture sector for the Venice Biennale.

Contributors in the issue include design critic Alice Rawsthorn, fashion designer Louise Gray and model Daisy Lowe. Martin is aiming to showcase female photographers, too. Alexandra Catiere snapped the fine jewelry section with male models clasping a myriad of fine jewels.

With the backing of Fantastic’s creative director Jop van Bennekom and publisher, Gert Jonkers, the new fashion title will have a circulation of 72,000.

Let's hope that this lovely newborn sticks around. I'm very much looking forward to a lazy, cloudy Sunday with The Gentlewoman.

I'm Changin' All Those Changes

2010-03-02T20:44:00.005+11:00

Call me a little slow on the uptake, but i think (with help of course) i've figured out how to upload a mixtape onto my blog.

Actually, i've never really wanted or needed to before now, but you see, my flatmate and i recently held a jumpin' shindig at our humble home, and it seems, i might have curated a well rounded aural feast.

Since that day, many attendees have requested i make them a mix, and whilst i wanted my first foray into a career behind the decks to be a little more hip, this is how i'm feeling right now, so go figure...?

I'm calling this mix: Listening To The beginning Of Like. - (click on the title for it to download..?)

Here's the line up (is that what it's called?):

1. No Sense - Cat Power

2. Kiwi Maddog 2020 - Elliott Smith

3. Under The Milky Way - The Church

4. Service Bell - Feist & Grizzly Bear

5. My Love - JJ

6. Billie Holiday - Warpaint

7. Fangela - Here We Go Magic

8. Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division

9. Johnny And Mary - Robert Palmer

Ok. It's only a small one, but i guess it's my little guinea pig mix. It's just a wee tester.

I haven't figured out how to name my album, or the genre, or include my own cover art...but that will come.

I hope you enjoy it. Lots of classic Australian and forgotten treats. Kissies.

- Oh, i think it will only last 2 weeks, so hurry and grab it. !!

In Your Dreams...

2010-02-28T20:04:00.005+11:00

I'm really not the kind of person to have regrets.

And i don't usually, if ever, live in the past.
To be frank, i truly don't want for anything.
As luck would have it, i pretty much have everything i could ever need.

BUT, let's just imagine for a minute that i'm a self-obsessed, narcissistic, consumerist animal. And that nothing is ever enough.
No, i'm kidding...that's taking it a bit far.
Lets just pretend that i live in my own private dream land and i can ask for anything i want.

This would be my wishlist:

I wish i hadn't said no to free tickets to see Jeff Buckley live at the pheonecian Club in Sydney, in 1995.

I wish i hadn't given up piano lessons when my piano teacher passed away from AIDS in 1988.

I wish, in that same year, i wasn't forced to celebrate Australia's bicentenary at my school.

I do wish that i'd kept the 1988 commemorative $2 note. I'm sure it'd soon fund my next wish...

I wish i could visit at least two new countries every year.

I wish Opening Ceremony wasn't so expensive.

I wish cellulite was the latest phone from Nokia, and not the stuff hanging out on my thighs.

I wish Casey Affleck, James McAvoy, and Vincent Gallo weren't married, and / or total freaks.

I wish they would finally find a cure for mental illness, Leukemia, and cancer, and eradicate white tip spiders forever (doesn't anyone else fear having to have a leg amputated after a spider bite?).

I also wish they'd invent a love potion, for real. I'd sprinkle it on all the haters, & lonely hearted.

I wish i was the singer or back up singer of a classic cult Australian band like The Go-Betweens.

I wish if i was the singer in my own band, that Rage would ask me to be a guest programmer.

I wish my boobies were smaller and higher.

I wish i had the patience (and vocabulary / talent / wit) to write a book. A good one. Like Catch 22 or Catcher In The Rye.

I wish it was easier to adopt a baby from a poor nation.

I wish i didn't need to have work done on the interior of my '81 mercedes. I wish it was immaculate already.

I wish everyone still spoke with the same romantic drawl & lingo that they did in old movies.

I wish leg & bikini line hair came optional for females. Underarm hair i quite like.

I wish River Phoenix was still alive.

I wish we still danced like they did in the 60's (thanks md).

I wish it wasn't so difficult to imagine a 'til death do you part / happily ever after' relationship.

I wish dogs could talk.

I wish when genies handed out three wishes, everyone had the good sense to ask for three more.

No Sense

2010-02-18T13:25:00.003+11:00

Can you see.

The world looks kinda different doesn't it...?

If i'm not mistaken, it's brighter.

More vivid, i believe. It also has more on offer. Isn't that novel?

It's a sexier world.

There're more of us walking around with open eyes. How cool!

We're less concerned with the little things and more greatly affected by the good stuff that happens. In a more positive way.

And when crappy stuff does happen, we go over it more easily. That's cause we're more carefree.

I personally don't give a shit about anything much anymore. And i mean that in a good way.

Don't care about boys. Don't care about shoes. Don't care about bills. Don't care about the weather. I don't care what people say about, or think of me. I don't give two shits about the 'lives of others'.

Idle gossip is poison...

I just want health and happiness for me and mine. My friends. My lovers. My family. My employees. My helpers...

Not caring as much makes me lighter.

I saw that film, Up In The Air, and whilst i don't intend to be living out of a backpack, and was outraged by the product placement propaganda throughout, not to mention the christian value undertones, i essentially liked the idea.

Except, he ended up sort of sad. And kind of lonely...

Ready, Able.

2010-01-13T18:07:00.002+11:00

It's taking all the power i have not to find you and write you a secret message.. .

Dream Evie

2010-01-08T14:48:00.004+11:00

I've come of age.

Officially.

That the last four weeks have contained the most profound and exciting, eye-opening, love-filled, ecstatic, humbling, confidence-boosting experiences, has a little bit to do with the exasperated smile plastered on my rosy face.

I turned 32 a few days ago. A Perfect Stranger saw in my birthday with me, and several wonderful friends celebrated, keeping the day a reminder of what a lucky lady i am.

I think i've finally payed back all the bad karma i accumulated in the early 90's.

So my raw food lifestyle has slipped, but only slightly. Though the alcohol : food replacement diet is going great guns.

I've been nicely reminded that, "everything in moderation, including moderation". It's a good mantra. Because when you're onto a good thing, it's waaaay too easy to crave more.

And more.

And more. And sometimes it's just not good for you. Fun, yes. Exhilarating, of course. But don't forget that in the pursuit of your temporary high, others might suffer.

Can you tell i'm just talking to myself here?

After a long spell of serious doubt, it's just beautiful to wake up each morning and know that for a change, things are going my way. There are still the usual tribulations, and if there weren't, i think i'd be at a loss. But, as a general rule, i can see quite a lovely, clear road ahead.

I don't want to be one of the millions of people i've come across in the past few days, who have all said 'this is gonna be a great year. i can feel it...', because i'm quite sure we all say that at the turn of every damn year. But call it a hunch, i might believe them this time...

Not content with resolutions, i think it's more relevant to set yourself an idea of who you want to be and what's important to you, and make that person a reality.

What does that mean for me? I'll be manifesting a piano playing, statuesque, thought-provoking conversationalist, company director, art collector/curator, philanthropist. That's all.

What?

Dancing In The Dark

2009-12-26T10:19:00.003+11:00

It's true good people. You can't start a fire without a spark.

And what i've discovered over the past (almost) 12 months is, firesticks are not as easy to come by as you think..

But...they're there. In the most unsuspecting of places. And by golly. When you get those two firesticks together, and they rub enough friction to create a flame, hot damn do they sizzle.

It's incredibly easy to forget & lose yourself, and what makes you special. You might feel sometimes like you're fading away with the time.

And inauspicious as though it may seem, it mostly takes a good person, sometimes someone random, sometimes a close friend, to remind you of what a wonder you can be.

Maybe through a word. Maybe through a look. Or maybe through their faith in who they believe you to be.

I've been there. Don't you know that i have.

BUT. Thanks to a recent chance happening with a very unique person, i can confidently say that my inner fire is shining a lot brighter.

Perfectly surreal in its circumstance, and leaving behind a lasting effect that has me in a bit of a daze, this person presented me with something i had forgotten how to accept.

My good old self.

Never who, where, or when you think. It's true that you can't force these things. You have to keep your head up, and know deep inside, that it's very, very close by.

How Do You Like Them Apples?

2009-12-03T15:35:00.006+11:00

Oh my erratic, beating heart.

All out of control and impatient. Learn to be quiet and for goodness sake. Stop giving yourself away.

If you do happen to overtake my better judgement and spew forth out of my mouth, the loving and titillating thoughts that reside within, please ensure that to whom you hit, has his phone switched off, and no voicemail activated.

If his voicemail is on, please have the good sense to decide to hang up before leaving a (long winded, explicit) message.

If you fail me, and leave a god-awful message, please make him lose his nokia in the toilet before he gets a chance to check it.

If he doesn't drop the nokia in the toilet, please please (if there is a god), make him not have any credit (as usual) and two weeks to go by before he receives enough funds for a recharge so that the message is wiped.

If he happens to check the messages, hope like flipping hell he accidently erases the message with his lovely, arty, manly, clumsy fingers and then says 'shit'.

In the unlikely event that none of the above occur, and he listens to the bumbling declaration, the key is: denial.

You'll need to be clever enough to disguise your lustfulness in a manner that makes said man just a little unsure as to whether you really do want him, or is your devotion aimed at the dashing but thick-as-a-fence-post lead singer man you've had to allude is your real object of affection.

And so, then be prepared for when he encourages you to be carnal with this other, inferior example of a man, because he's been bamboozled by your unusual diversion. You might even have to fondle with inferior man to truly give your 'story' backbone.

However, when the web of deceit you've woven finds you both stumbling about in friendship purgatory, meeting every friday for a 'liquid lunch' at the sheaf and chatting about funny dog's names, blame yourself.

If you'd only have just kept your stupid thoughts to yourself, and let the goddamn man be a man, you might've found that this awkward dance was avoided, and yourselves in a lip-smacking orgy of clarity and glee.

I know, i know. Hindsight's a bitch...

In Memory Of.

2009-11-20T11:01:00.003+11:00

It's not often i have to think about death. I'm not afraid of dying, nor am i concerned about how it happens to me, when it does.

I find it precarious enough to live in the present, without having to worry about how my strange life will end.

However, in the last week i have been saddened by the loss of a couple of truly beautiful people.

Whether through compassion, or through a lack of understanding about the end of life, i feel moved by these deaths and just want to air my sympathy and loving wishes for the family's of the two very special people.

It's easy to take for granted the way in which we exist, so if it helps to realise that we're only here for a short time, do your very best to make it poetic, whatever that might mean for you.

SONGSSONGS

2009-11-19T11:52:00.005+11:00

I really really want to write about me. And what i'm doing. And feeling. And thinking. And obsessing over.

It's taking all the effort in the world to not tell you about the book i'm currently reading (Picture This - Joseph Heller), music i'm dying over (DMB's & Grizzly), secret hideout (MMC), website / blog i'm addicted to (BCTM).

I'm struggling to keep inside the multitude of theories i've devised about why some boys make eyes at me, and others think i'm a stinking weirdo.

If I can just keep this innate desire to lovingly stroke my nicely sized ego for just another minute or so, to tell you that my dear musically inclined friends, SONGS, are finally releasing their debut (self titled) album with a round of shows.

I'm telling you. If you don't go, haven't seen them play, or don't know who they are... you have problems.

It's not often i talk up a band like this, but these guys. They're something else. Truly.

Even some guy who never says nice things about anyone had these nice things to say about their album.

Anyway. Come to one of their gigs. My prediction is that the Sydney show at the Oxford Art Factory on Thursday November 26th, will go off.

And no, i'm not just saying that because that's the one i'm going to be at.

Oh, whilst we're talking about me... I'm going to be in Melbourne for SONGS' Melb show, so my little Victorian treasures, do your best to be there too! (Melanie, Kirra, Andre, Jade, i'm talking to you.)

p.s. bring a little extra dime. the album will be on sale at the gigs, and features the coolest cover art ever. well, maybe not ever...but near enough.

Lifting The Vaile

2009-10-22T10:19:00.006+11:00

Rene Vaile. Man. Myth. Terror. Most incredible human on earth?

Here is a person that is unrivaled in terms of personality. His talent is beyond his own comprehension, and his friend's adore him - ne'er a bad word could be heard.

Showing in Auckland at Plaything Gallery, Rene is holding his first solo exhibition of photographs. And i'm jumping on a plane to be there.

Because that's the kind of guy he is. One you want to hold hands with in support. Snuggle on the couch with when suffering a hideous hangover. Go to bill&tony's and share cordial. Get excited over big jet planes.

Rene. You're my favourite person ever. Good luck, and save a photo for me. I'm-a-coming. Cheque book at the ready!

Opening Night - Thursday 29th October 2009

Show runs until Saturday 14th November 2009

21 Dacre St, Newton

Auckland, Land Of The Long White Cloud

What's Hot Meow.

2009-10-08T18:12:00.005+11:00

In the same tune as the last tirade / diatribe (thank you. i love those words), i was so inspired by this blog, that i felt compelled to feature it on mine.

Forward thinking. Finger on the pulse. Ahead of the game. Cliche what you will.

This blogger has all the makings to be the next pint sized celebrity blogging cover star. Tavi, look out. There's a new cat in town....

I Just Wasn't Made For These Times

2009-10-06T18:34:00.004+11:00

Everyone likes the angrier me.

The Idiots has been hit over a zillion times (i know, crazy right?).

And I almost didn't press "publish". Because. Though I do speak my mind all the time, it just happened that that day, i hated myself enough to want to join the masses in their group hatred of my blog loving.

And fuck me. Now all of a sudden having a blog is uncool? Someone could've told me, and save me the humiliation of introducing myself as "Evie Bear, yes cool name. Yes cool blog/s (note the plural...)"

What's with everyone. Why so fickle? And unpredictable?

I mean. I get frustrated with blogs all the time. They're all the flippin same. Woo. Boat shoes by Raf Simons. Aah, amazing. Someone loves Rick Owens' SS10 collection. Whaddaya know.

As it goes, I fucking hate Rick Owens. He's ugly, and his clothes look like oily rags. And photo's of outfits people wish they owned... what is that? ( though i would REALLY love this miu miu dress, which would look great with these shoes, and this enviable nose).

(squeaky voice)"Hi. I'm a twenty something fashionista and this song is on my ipod shuffle. On repeat. Don't you just wish you had her hair?"

I say, NO. I don't actually. All it does is remind me of when the first guy I ever had a crush on finally touched my boobies, but wouldn't touch the nipple.

Jeez.

And recommendations of movies about boys that meet girls but they don't fall in love, because it's predictable and then they do, but not really, and on facebook it'd be classified as 'it's complicated'.

It's ALL effing complicated. That's why we're all sneaky, spiteful little bastards, parading around pretending to like everyone.

I don't care if you detest my blogs. Or me for that matter. I just want to get some real actual loving.

And if having a cool name, and a belatedly cool blog (thanks dazed digital / truth-beauty-cock/ so much to tell you / a brush with fate, and any other bigger, better blog that accidently mentions mine instead of lowlife.blogspot.com - a blog about 'my thoughts on this and that', which, ironically, has absolutely nothing on it. how cool is that?) helps me to attain that goal. Well. Then. So be it.

All i can say is, sucked in for you rsvp losers who didn't think of it first.

P.S. koalaman82 - call me.

Guest Blogger: Catherine McPhee

2009-09-30T17:44:00.004+10:00

I just love Catherine McPhee. Smart, sassy, and ahead of the game. Her website / online zine, Canvas Magazine, is checked with love daily for all things clever.

I invited her here for a special guest rant...

You want to know my dream job? Being in a band. I like the idea of collective unity. Donʼt want to be the bass guitarist. Donʼt care much for drums, although I do appreciate oneʼs talent for playing the instrument. I want to be up there at the front, taking centre stage, belting out the tunes, thank you very much.

The problem I have with this pipe dream is an obvious, and aural, lack of musical talent. I struggled with the recorder at primary school, for god sakes. I donʼt think my voice can find a note, let alone hold one.

Despite this, I have given a lot of thought into this job. Iʼve got a killer name for my so called band.

You think Iʼm going to tell you?

Iʼm the eternal optimist. If this fantasy comes to fruition Iʼve got to be ready. So in the meantime I dream of being this hybrid rockʼn'roll persona of some of my favourite singers and bands.

Iʼd be warbling dulcet tones to the audience like Emil Svanängen.

My lyrics would be simple but poignant and have the emotional intensity of the words of Daniel Rossen, singer from The Department of Eagles.

I could only dream of writing like Bradford Cox.

And Iʼd have this preppy, quasi-Yoko, nostalgic thing going on like Peggy Wang.

Note to self: Looking bookish and cute helps. Grow some bangs.

Do you think you would come to see my band?

http://www.loneydear.com/

http://www.departmentofeagles.com/

http://deerhuntertheband.blogspot.com/

http://www.thepainsofbeingpureatheart.com

Furvert

2009-09-30T12:21:00.005+10:00

Do you know what i like? Sweet little kids dressed in cute all-in-one animal outfits.

Do you know what else i like, ME dressed in an all-in-one animal outfit.

What?

Didn't anyone else find the dog man in Dark Angel raunchy?

Thank you Spike Jonze.

The Idiots

2009-09-28T17:44:00.003+10:00

So. I've decided i'm a pretentious, self righteous idiot.

I re-read my own blog to find that it's filled with the monotone rumblings of a seemingly disgruntled, born again, almost middle aged, fashion wannabe, and it makes my mouth fill with a little bit of vomit.

I especially hate the parts that give advice on how to live your life just like mine. Or the smarmy tinkerings about stupid, not-worth-the-effort boys i fall in lust with. Gag. I should just visit a sex shop or sleep with my exes like other normal people.

This miniscule moment of clarity gives me the strength to say sorry for all the sugar, and here's a nice dose of reality.

Fashion is what it is. Expensive pieces of cloth that cover our hairy privates.

Men actually do suck. And on occasions, that trait comes in good use.

Flowers die.

Raw food is boring. It makes the pieces of cloth fit more nicely. And my 31 year old cheeks look less lack-lustre than if i were scoffing krispy kreme's every day. But sheesh Evie. Have a fucking sandwich.

Aaaand - out.

Vertigo

2009-09-28T15:32:00.003+10:00

Sometimes, life goes slow. It's easy, and predictable, and well, safe.

And then, out of nowhere, like the biggest punch in the face you've ever had (and yes, i've had one, so i know), everything gets turned on its head.

Maybe the sweet job you had, becomes hard and scary. The workload is overwhelming, and quite frankly, boring. And you start to wonder what on earth brought you to this point.

Or perhaps your cushy little relationship takes a swing to the left and the dent you two are making on your ikea couch becomes an ugly reminder of all the things you AREN'T doing.

It might just even be, that all the things you thought you'd have done by now, are taking their sweet time to materialise, and yes, all of a sudden it's fucking October 2009 and you're planning New Years and / or RAFW 2010 - (sound of head smacking against concrete wall, repeatedly) and the people you thought you could depend on to make grand plans happen are letting you down. . .

It sounds like you need a break. Or a change. Or a reality check. Perhaps you need all of the above.

My dad always said that because you're in charge of you, you're the only one that has the power to change everything.

If you're not happy in your job, and see no change in sight - quit! If your other half is all of a sudden, not as inspiring and supportive as you once thought - leave them. If you need a break, stop just wishing for it - fly the hell outta dodge. Even if just for the weekend.

A lovely friend tells me the key to life is to keep it 'simple and authentic'.

In all honesty, whilst i agree, i also think it's important to be spontaneous and a little outrageous with your decisions now and then.

Don't forget, it might just be this one time. I'm no guru, but i am quite sure that when you go, you go (unless you too want to be cryogenically frozen and re-woken in 2100).

So my goodness. Make the most of it.

Embrace change.

Go for broke.

Only the strong will actually survive, so go ahead. Challenge yourself.

And on that...

Did anyone else think when they woke up to a red world last wednesday, that the rest of humanity had perished, and you were the only survivor?...Or not...

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

2009-09-28T12:49:00.004+10:00

My dear friend and acclaimed artist, Kirra Jamison opened her latest exhibition, Slow Down, You Move too Fast last week in Melbourne's Sophie Gannon Gallery.

Ethereal, honest, moody. Kirra's work is generally presented on large scale canvases or paper, and has enough of ambiguity that it literally appeals to almost anybody. Young, creative, mature, sensible...

I've written about Kirra before and so i won't go into details about her many accolades, and the extent of her various collections, but you should know, that Kirra is a masterful creative genius who still maintains a humble sense of what she wants.

Her work does occasionally remind me of something i might've seen before, but then i realise it's just that i relate to it.

A long and successful career as a working artist has been made a reality, through her sheer determination to do what she loves, and that alone.

It's a rare treat to know such an accomplished soul, and with each new body of work, it becomes more and more apparent that what you're witnessing is a virtuoso in the making.

Gary In The Sky

2009-09-21T17:13:00.003+10:00

Gary Bigeni is currently in Gay Paris. So is Jade Sarita Arnott. And Gail Sorronda (and Atlas) already live there.

Hmm. Someone please bring me back a mini eiffel tower key ring...? Pleease?

Anyway. If you all are as upset about missing this trip as i am, here is something that will make it better.

Feast your eyes on this lovely sight / read.

This week it was Sydney designer and sugar junkie Gary Bigeni’s turn to sleep on our floor. The top of Gary’s Paris to do list was to eat his weight in chocolate croissants and immerse himself in capitalism at Disneyland. Here's a quick interview...

Gary you and Gail first met seven years ago when Gail did an assignment on your label. Tell us about that first encounter.

Well I got a call from a mysterious girl who had a blocked nose voice “This is Gail here from the Queensland University of Technology. I got your number off Thea from Blonde Venus and I saw your collection in the store and I really loved it and I want to ask if I can to an assignment on you because I have to do an assignment on an Australian designer and you really inspire me.” We’ve been good friends ever since.

Your personal style is in complete contrast to your design. Today you look like Big Bird wearing chef pants. (Gary interjects “No! They were full seventies bell bottom pants that I took in). Tell us about your personal style.

I like to wear whatever, whenever. I’m never afraid and I’m not concerned what people think of me. I wear my wooded red love heart and creepers with homemade printed collared bed sheet tops clashed with coloured pants with different coloured board shorts over the top. I’ve been wearing my knee high coloured socks ever since a teacher told me to pull my socks up or I’m never going to get anywhere in life. I haven’t pulled them down since.

And what about your design aesthetic?

I like to design classic timeless pieces with a twisted element whether it’s the cut or the drape of the fabric with interesting pattern making. I’ve always had a passion for jersey, it’s a timeless fabric that you can wear all year round. I get a lot of energy from it.

I noticed most of your aw10 collection is named after people. Friends I assume. Can you tell us about this?

Well I name some of them after friends, pieces that I know that they would wear. The name gives the particular piece a character. I’ve always had one word names. Its easy for referral and its good for communication.

Gary you have Coca Cola and chocolate croissants for breakfast. Is your mum worried about your imminent diabetes?

My mum is my greatest sugar advocate. Whatever tastes good. You only live once. I love food

And finally how was your Disney experience? Highlights?

It was a big bang in the head. It was fun. I liked the turtle ride. I liked all the twirly rides. I liked the Indiana Jones one. And I liked the Disney dance at the end when we were leaving.

We Died Of Awe

2009-09-04T12:18:00.004+10:00

Not usually content to re-post magazine tears, i was too mortified by awe (thanks bree, for the word inspiration) to not.

Kinga Rajzak shot by Viviane Sassen for Pop Fall/Winter 2009. Bask in it's glory.

Green Thumb - The Story Of A Murderer

2009-08-31T16:17:00.002+10:00

All around me is the stench of death.

Wilting. Yellowed. Foul-smelling. Insect-ridden. Death.

I don't mean to do it. I try all methods of restraint. I truly have remorse. I do.

But they just haven't got a hope in hell. I'm a killer. It's the sad truth.

Plants hate me.

Boy have i tried to grow things. "These little guys will survive anywhere" the man in the nursery says gruffly.

They don't.

Succulents. Void of any succulence.

Orchids. Just plain awkward.

Herbs. Don't even get me started.

Even Cacti wither in my presence.

What chance do i have to keep a baby alive if i can't even nurture an Air Plant? They're supposed to survive on nothing but air.

THEY DIED!

(sound of wailing and fists banging on the table).

I'll tell you what the ultimate irony is? I'm obsessed with plants and flowers.

It's like an illness.

I want a house covered in creepers. I'd like an internal foliage wall right in my bedroom. I'd have a garden, overgrown and wretched. There'd be natives and introduced species. Non discriminatory, i am.

And deciduous. My favourite. Bare in Winter. In bloom for summer. Heaven.

Oh. But the reality is. I never will. For all inanimate living things seem to curl up and die with my evil touch.

It must be a sign of evil inside. I can fool everyone around me. But not the trees. No. There'll be no photosynthesizing when i'm around.

No bush. No stem. No bunch will be tricked. And so death ensues.

Fatalities. A new one every day. Ahhh. Beware, beware i tell you. It's a curse. A wretched curse. And i'm sure it's only a matter of time before other elements catch on. . .

Another Dimension

2009-08-24T13:25:00.005+10:00

They say lightening never strikes the same place twice. And that Thunder only happens when it's raining...

Giant dream catchers filled with the colours of the rainbow have been created by Natalie Wood for the launch of her label, Something Else, at INCU.

The window installation at INCU's City & Paddington stores are bathed in a glowing light of fluorescent pink, yellow and orange strings, complete with Pompoms, feathers and sparkling embellishments.

These magical and mystical artworks highlight the inspirations for Wood's SS09 collection, 'The Sound of Light". Wood envisioned that passers by, when catching a glimpse of her creations, would feel compelled to stop and lose themselves in the vision, even if just for a moment in time. Like a lucid time travel experience, this crazy and whimsical portal beams out at you in the most wonderful of ways.

Not so...

This is the blurb that was written to describe the spectacle in the Incu windows.

This, however, is what it would sound like, if it were a song.

This is what it would feel like, if it were a mood. And this is what is would do...if it had arms.

Natalie Wood, you are my artistic, creative, psychedelic hero.

Sweet (electric) dreams...

Who Do I Think You Think I Am?

2009-08-19T16:06:00.004+10:00

Here's a fact: Women hate pictures of themselves, more than men do.

Apparently it has to do with the fact that women are taught to believe that their self worth or value is in their appearance.

Now, i'm certainly not going to enter into a moral argument over here. I have my opinions, and on this matter, lo and behold. I will keep them to myself...

But, it's made way for a thought pattern to occur, which goes something like this;

I know how i feel about myself (and now, so do all of you), and i know what i think i look like, but what do others think i look like. And what do others feel about who i am?

Because, just because i'm happy within my very soul, doesn't necessarily mean everyone is pleased about me.

I'm sure there are a few kids out there that would like to sock a very sticky date pudding (full fat, complete with glaze) straight at my pale face to have me shut up about the revolutionary raw food way of life...

And sure. It's true to say that when you're happy and have found inner peace, you just don't care what others think, but the truth is. You still kinda do.

I still giggle when i think of this funny story my friend tells of how someone offered a description of her. "You have a very small mouth."

I mean. What would they say about me? And would I care? It's way, way, wa-ay too unnerving to consider.

I am for definite one of those people that almost NEVER gets photographed.

My facebook is sans social pics. To the point where i worry that i'll start losing friends rather than gain them, as I fear they'll start to cotton on that i am a social misfit.

So much for PR guru (sound of person gagging).

I detest myself in pictures. Though, i relish seeing a good one... Hens Teeth.

Sad. It's too sad for words. This being the case, i have almost no pictures of myself in the past 5 years.

I went to my mum's house on the weekend. Way down in the Southern Highlands. And we looked through old albums.

When i saw pictures of my ma, at the age that i am now, i cried. i cried for precious lost youth, and for my own lost memories.

I made a personal vow to lose my inhibitions, and begin a(nother) new chapter in my life. One that will last beyond my own years.

Life is too short to worry about the little things. Crooked Teeth. Frizzy Hair. Pimples. Back Fat.

And you know what? If it gets you down that badly. Get off your backside and do something about it. Don't just sit there goddamn it.

Worse than complaining about the issues you have, is not doing anything about them. You bore me.

So. Next time you come towards me with your lens pointing erotically my way, i won't shy away. I promise. I'll do my very best to put on my brave face.

But be warned. If you think i'll ever let them get to the papers...you've got another thing coming. That, my dear friends. That is social suicide. And that is one thing, that i'll never change. No MATTER what anyone thinks.

I've Been Dazed & Confused For So Long It's Not True

2009-08-07T17:32:00.004+10:00

wow.

i've been shortlisted as a finalist in the Dazed Digital online blog awards.

sadly, it's not my ranting and raving that has me recognised, but my embellishment of other people's finery on L O W L I F E.

oh well.

hey! you can vote for me!

that would be so supportive and fun. and if i win, i promise to make you my number 1 lackey.

what? someone will need to carry around my huge, oversized sparkly award for me.

pardon?

you think i'd carry my own accolades? are you nuts? only a fool keeps all the glory for themselves.

Fan Male

2009-08-03T13:33:00.007+10:00

So, i've said before that i don't have a 'type'. I think i'm smart enough to have worked out life is harder if you pigeon-hole yourself.

And it's occurred to me, that this goes for all directions of my life.

I'm not into just one genre of music. Not one particular type of style or dress. No one favourite colour palate... or worldly destination, or flavour.

Really. I'm rather easy to please...

But. It's with great hesitation that i confess, that i think i might actually have a preference for the type of boys i like. (read; obsess over).

Boys. In. Bands.

Goddammit.

I'm a groupie. Yes i am.

It's the damn god complex. Don't pretend like you don't know what i mean.

Even the most ordinary of blokes become an object of serious desire when up on stage, belting their sweet lungs out or crooning tentatively.

It's true right?

I saw a band play on the weekend. And i'd heard a little of them on the radio, so I was a little excited.

When i arrived, a little late, it was halfway through the support band and I had stood unknowingly in front of a very curious and amazing looking man who was filming on a video camera.

I apologised and moved to the side, but there was something altogether great, unusual and enthralling about this young man.

Anyway.

The support band finished and came off stage. The next band began to gather themselves together, and the afore mentioned man took to the stage. And my heart went all a flutter...

All of a sudden he's not just an interesting looking fella, he's a serious contender. A fantasy begging to play out. I know it's crass. I'm not meaning to be. In fact, i wish that this came across more whimsically. For me, the scenario becomes dream like. I imagine i'm a part in an old film, or at least in a Sonic Youth video clip.

That's how i see it. Him. The evolution of feelings and the growth of our relationship, should it begin. As a sweet sonnet or chapter in a great book.

What is this phenomena? I ask you.

I once went out with this guy who was a really amazing drummer, and pianist, and a total nightmare. (not to mention just completely wrong for me). But get him on that stage, and he used to tell me he'd never seen anyone look at anyone the way i did when he was on stage...

It's weird. But i think it's a vicarious kind of love. You know. Less about them, and more about what i wish for myself.

I know. I'm not the only one. Gosh.

My girlfriends follow skater boys around, and when they compete, they're there, hooting and ready to share a booth in a bar. Ready to cosy on up to one of the popular players.

Other friends run after models, and small time actors. I get it. It's not beyond me. I just wonder what it is. Is it the talent. Is it the confidence?

Personally, when someone has the security to get up in front of a room filled with people, and show the raw, true, vulnerable and whole hearted essence of their skill, it drives me to distraction. And the less refined, the better.

My favourite people are the ones that can be completely honest and ugly, because, the purity and confidence it must take to show this side of yourself is mind blowing. And an ethereal beauty comes shining through when you do.

That's what i look for.

I think that's my thing.

Stars Fading But I Linger On, Dear

2009-07-29T16:21:00.005+10:00

What does it matter if you dream a little dream? Who really cares if your reality sits somewhere between quirky, and totally eccentric?

There's all this talk about crossing lines, and staying professional and maintaining an air of distinguished integrity at all times, and believe you me, i'm all for social graces.

But deep within, dying to bubble to the surface is a complete and utter bag lady.

A mumbling, kooky, neurotic, Annie Hall / David Helfgott style whack-job, aching to come out.

(truthfully, if you watch that clip, i don't think i'm very far off...)

Would you still love me? I mean, aside from being unkempt and strangely unpredictable, i'd still be me?

And so what if my ideas and hopes are unruly and unlikely? I mean, if i want to not-so-secretly love someone from afar, speak out my true feelings to friends, or teeter on the edge of what's socially acceptable then, godammit. Who's gonna stop me? Huh?

What kind of person are you to tell me what to do? Hmm?

You're not the boss of me.

And I feel sorry for you if you haven't the mischief inside you to want to be a little less square yourself.

Go on. Live a little. Don't be scared. You'll make more of an impact. The scent of your very being, will linger on.

People will one day understand the true breadth that your presence made on their life, and will smile fondly when thinking of you.

I still remember all the whacko's that i've come across in my lifetime thus far, and really admire their tenacity for just being wholeheartedly themselves, and then some.

(Seriously, who hasn't at one point wanted to end up like the pink guy that hangs out on the promenade at Bondi telling people that they're beautiful?!)

Hang on.

Aren't i now telling you what to do?

Sigh.

Having a blog is so confusing.

Do what you want.

I think that's the bottom line. Just don't hurt anyone.

Then for certain no-one will like you. And trust me, no amount of feathers in your hair will make up for it.

Crazy In Love

2009-07-28T13:39:00.002+10:00

"5. if you’re NOT wearing any makeup, and you need to go to the supermarket- and it’s kind of a hip and trendy market you shop at- who cares? go inside without make-up. Stop worrying so much. Only you know how truly ugly you could possibly look in that moment."

I have been holding out. And holding out. And h o l d i n g out...

But, alas, i'm busting at the seams. There is just no way i can keep this a secret any longer.

I'm Boy Crazy. Crazy in love with I'm Boy Crazy. Obsessed, and smitten. Alexi is the gut busting, foul mouthed, sex on a stick, hotdamn, tell-it-like-it-is blogger i've always wanted to be. And then some.

Damn you Wasser. Damn you for saying all the things that are in my head but my pure and innocent facade prevents me from saying out loud. And damn you for always being right. I'm always right. If we're both always right, does that make us kindred spirits?

Maybe we could get together and build a school for people who need help. Help and advice on how to live life. Because, if there is anyone who knows how to live, i believe it's us.

Boy is this true.

We could hold evening courses. And i could be the spokesperson so as not to offend the potential payers & prudes, and you could teach the classes. I can see it now. Can you?

Please don't ever stop writing I'm Boy Crazy. For if you do, your sizable gap in my life may well force the true, unadulterated version of myself out into the public eye. And so far, i've managed to contain my evil quite well.

There. I said it. It's out. I'm Boy Crazy...and I don't care who knows it.

The Gift

2009-07-22T10:11:00.003+10:00

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now mid-August which meant that he had been

separated from Marsha for more than two months.
Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared

letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls.
True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin

and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain

a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as

amusement. She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo

had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and

when he did, he had horrible dreams.

He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his

printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes, As he pictured

Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth

soothings of some Neanderthal, Finally submitting to the final

caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind

could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts.
And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she

really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had

intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.

He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't

there. (Awww.) The idea came to him on the Thursday before

the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished

mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty

And had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a

word from Marsha. There was nothing more than a

circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America

inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough

to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in
the mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough
money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly
simple. He would ship himself parcel post special
delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought
masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized
cardboard box, just right for a person of his build.
He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could
ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, a
selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be
as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly
packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up
at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE"
and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam
rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried
to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's
face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped
the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo
finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then
maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package
and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud
in a truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It
had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember
not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it
though. After it was over he'd said that he still
respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way
of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they
were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo --
but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her
very, very best friend walked in through the porch
screen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it's
absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha
tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk
outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt
grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and
made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she
wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing
up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an
exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even
talk about that." She got up from the table and went
to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and
blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than
steak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don't
think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up
and sat down, this time nearer the small table that
supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she
said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I
thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an
octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured,
raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is
after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you
know, and after all he didn't really do anything
Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you
know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila
was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell
you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she
bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she
was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence
Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large
stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in.
He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed
and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in
the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. S
he stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in
the middle of the living room. "I don't know."

Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as
he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her
fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the
center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the
return address and see who it is from?" Waldo felt
his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating
footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the
ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with
expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said
Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.

"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have
nailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "My
God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened."
They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" They
both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha
ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a
little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a
large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find." She was very out of
breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank
into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape
and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too
big and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn this
thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then,
smiling, "I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her
head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with
excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin
felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart
beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila
stood quite upright and walked around to the other
side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees,
grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath
and plunged the long blade through the middle of the
package, through the middle of the masking tape,
through the cardboard, through the cushioning and
(thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head,
which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs
of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

I Could Never See Tomorrow

2009-07-20T13:58:00.006+10:00

Alright. So i'm no love guru. I am quite sure i've done things wrong in my past relationships, and heck. Maybe even broken a heart or two along my way.

Okay, maybe not. But i enjoy imagining that i'm some rampant vixen who leaves a trail of love lorn men in her wake...

However, i started thinking about lost love and the trials and tribulations of being someone's 'other half'.

I mean, i have this theory that the whole lovesick gooey, calling each other stupid names like sugarbum, or pookie wookie, is a very early phase, and once that's over, the rest of a relationship is just a constant struggle for power.

Harsh, i know. I think that this observation comes only from someone not in a relationship...

Because, when you're actually in one, you are the accused, and all you have left to do is defend your giggly stupidity.

Don't get me wrong. I'm the biggest offender.

My last boyfriend had 15 pet names. And he HATED every one of them. Boy did he hate them. But i couldn't help myself.

The more he reeled in horror from being called any one of these names, the more names i thought of. Poor bloke.

But i think what's most often forgotten, is that we're really only one human. Not a half. And when things start going a little haywire, a broken heart is almost always the result.

All relationships will end up with someone getting hurt. Even if they're lifelong commitments and you end up together 'until death do you part'...

The death of you or your lover, unless it's together (like in The Notebook...Mmmm, Ryan Gosling), will bring you uncontrollable pain. So you see. There's no escaping it. The hurt.

But still, just as they say, It's Better To Have Loved And Lost, Than Never To Have Loved At All.

This little saying has been my lifelong mantra. Through all my strange and brilliant crushes, affairs and relationships (especially the ones i knew were no good), i knew that whatever i was experiencing, marvelous or rotten, it was experiencing.

Who wants to be protective and afraid to leap into emotional turmoil? Either way there's a singular result. It's about what happens in between the gooey phase and the hurtful broken hearted departure that makes us who we are.

And i like the unexpected, and the awkwardness, and the insecurity, and the quiet obsessing, and the romanticism, and yes, even the pain.

The pain makes me want to write songs, and scream into cushions, and cry in my car, and eat ice cream from the container, and wear unusual outfits, and scowl at happy couples.

But like most other people, i just take comfort in music, and get myself a good old break-up album to get me through. And sometimes, it's that break up album or just one song, that gives you the advice or answer you're looking for. Or brings you back together.

I'm telling you, if a boy i loved hurt me (and i mean did something silly, not actually REALLY hurt me like cheating on me, or punched me in the nose), and then played me Al Green's How Can You mend A Broken Heart, i'd forgive him immediately and fall in love all over again.

Cause love is stupid, and senseless and it really does make you do the darnedest things. And thank god. Because otherwise we'd all just be ants.

Boo to you love haters. Don't bring the others down with you. You just need a good, old fashioned cuddle. And maybe a little back of the van action.

Who Would Have Thought We'd Be Surviving On Love?

2009-07-20T11:06:00.004+10:00

"The Vampire kisses mark brighter in Paris.

There is deprivation and sacrifice, nothing glamourous in the city of love.

Who would've thought we'd be surviving on love?"

Exerpt from Gail Sorronda's blog, discussing the ridiculously good jewellery range titled Bruised Jewellery, created by Gail (featuring the help of Atlas).

We're rather thrilled to have Gail Sorronda as a new addition to our humble little stable. To keep a personal watch on the couple as they create mastery, subscribe to their blog. It's really good.

The Sound Of Silence

2009-07-14T15:59:00.005+10:00

Today, my flatmate is going away for 3 whole weeks.

And, though i love her dearly............YAY!!!

This will be the first time in almost ten years that i'll have the opportunity to spend so much time, in my own home, alone.

I'm so excited that, i almost don't know what to do with myself.

And therein lies dilemma number 1.

Getting used to being alone: A lesson.

It's so tempting to invite friends over, and plan for something to do every single night, but don't.

You'll be surprised at, not only how quickly time goes by, but at how pleasant a feeling it is coming home to an apartment that feels just like you.

Take up, or practice the piano. And sing too.

This type of torture is normally against the moral code of flat-sharing, but seeing as how she's not going to be there, it's a great opportunity to finally get even with the downstairs girl who, most weekend evenings, plays phil collins or (late) george michael whilst having loud, fast, disgusting sex with drunken irish backpackers.

And no. I'm not jealous. Or religious. Just mortified that people still use terrible 90's music as a preface to sexual intercourse.

Oh my god. I just said sexual intercourse.

Do the dishes.

And don't just rinse them under scalding hot water, and hope that flatmate will re-wash during the daytime. She's gone remember? Start to take pride in keeping an immaculate house.

It feels really, really good. I assure you.

Get some things done. For example. I have about 6 pieces of art, all lined up behind my bedroom door, still in cardboard because i haven't been bothered to get them framed.

Imagine the satisfaction of finally being able to mount your beautiful collected work onto your beautiful bare walls. Do it.

And go to Ikea. Just go. Buy those damn lack shelves. Expedit units. Dilling boxes. And put your shit away.

So, once your apartment becomes your sanctuary, you'll enjoy being there. Alone. A lot. You'll revel in your own company, for you are surrounded by objects, and feelings that represent an independant, safe, and happy you.

If you own a tv, turn it off at the switch. Turn off the radio. (Do people still listen to the radio?) Get rid of magazines and newspapers. It's all propaganda anyway.

Soak up the glorious sound of silence. It's a rare and marvelous treat.

Curl up on your lovely, spacious couch, switch yourself off and relax. Look out the window into the trees and gardens in front of you and dream, or smile knowing that you actually quite like your own company. Because i'm begging the question. If you don't like being in your own company, alone...who else will?

And forget about it. I'm not arranging a torrid sex party. I'm telling you...Those days are over.

My Lavender Lady Friend

2009-07-13T12:43:00.003+10:00

Because i miss you like crazy. And because twelve goodbyes are never enough, here is an ode to you, my lovely Lavender ladybird. Lyrics have been adapted for this here sonnet.

If I started my own country
For the flag, what colours would I use?
Such a myriad to choose from
I would pick red, yellow & blue

Red, for the love I'd spill to own it
Yellow, for your sunshine smiles our way
& although I am leader of this country
Blue, because I'd still have sad days

I hope the orange dust is inspiring you. And with every sunrise and sunset that rises and falls over the straight, flatness, think of your new beginnings with excitement and happy anticipation.

And maybe, just maybe, i can forsee a time when i make a treacherous journey all the way across our wild nation to find you basking in outback, love riddled glory.

And that will be the most hilarious cold, red blooded of old times.

I Liked You Better Before

2009-07-09T10:50:00.007+10:00

Amazing how people can change so fast. Do they change? Or were they just that way to begin with and had you fooled. Oh god. I'm so confused.

I can definitely see that it can happen. I'm sure i'm the same way.

But. Wow. It's intense the way you can be surrounded, and seemingly safe in a group of lovely friends, only to find that in one fell swoop they can disappear.

The people you so recently thought you'd never be without, are gone from your life, probably as fast as they came, and they become just a fond or foolish memory.

Sigh.

I guess it's romantic in one sense, because it's almost an analogy for life itself, the way that everything is so fleeting. I guess one should just be happy with one's brief, but happy experiences, rather than long for more.

You know ...enjoy the now.

Well. If it makes any difference. It still makes me sad. Lost friends. I love you. I still think about you.

I still remember lying in bed smoking a funny cigarette with you with our legs on the wall.

I still laugh when I go past a pharmacy. Any pharmacy.

I still get teary when I hear Darlin' by The Beach Boys.

I get even more teary when I look at my bookshelf and see C.S. Lewis. - Remember you read it all in one go, in the car?

I think about dark restaurants in Crown St and remember a beautiful, intimate, expensive dinner that you paid for. I could have kissed you.

I unravel the photo you gave me, and it fills me with a happy sadness.

I look at my beautiful piano, and I learn to play songs that remind me of you. Of course, they're all the hard ones.

If you're about to disappear, do so for the right reasons. Don't change. I liked you better before. If you are already gone, know that you're actually not that far away. And you never will be.

You Are Free

2009-07-07T13:59:00.004+10:00

Gluten Free

Dairy Free

Wheat Free

Heat Free

Yeast Free

Sugar Free

GMO Free

Egg Free

Guilt Free

Heavy, sinking feeling that burdens you Free

It's a diet that takes some looking into. Nope. It's not for the feint of heart, or feint of stomach. And i'm not preaching. Or recommending it. I'm just telling you because...that's what i do. Tell tales. And express my observations.

You can take what I say as gospel, or you can choose to be 'blog free'.

But, if you are keen to look into the things that you ingest on a regular basis, can i suggest the following website? It's so lovely. Have a tissue ready. Or better yet, a bib. Drooling will follow.

It's strange when you finally stop and take a look at who you really are, and what you're actually made of.

Of course i mean this metaphorically and literally, but for the latter, for me, it's made quite a life altering difference.

I guess it's not hard to take living for granted. Days go by. Weeks go by. Thoughts and emotions come, and they go. People come and go. Relationships and friendships, unfortunately, come and go.

And through it all, you're still the one thing that remains. If it's just this life, and believe me, i have no flipping idea what happens next, then why not try things that might be a little out of the ordinary.

If even just a new way of eating. Wearing your hair or make up differently. A forgotten language. A lost form of art. Helping someone less well off. A new way of thinking. A different approach to love.

Be just a little whacky. What can it hurt? Variety is supposed to be the spice of life. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn't. Maybe you can tell me? But maybe it's as simple as opening your eyes...

Whoo Knew?

2009-07-06T12:22:00.006+10:00

So i've come over all zen.

I don't know if it's because i've taken to only eating raw food, or if it's because i'm older, wiser, and more neurotic than ever, but i seem to have come into my own.

I just am happier. And more accepting of, not only the things that happen to me, but to the things that happen around me too (damn, is that from AA? Not that i go, not that it's bad if you do...).

It's as if i've awoken after a lifetime of sleep, into a world that shows some semblance of sense.

And where there isn't sense, there is clarity.

It seems, to quote a dear friend of mine, 'Everything Is Going To Be Okay'...

And thank god. Because for a moment there, it looked as if things were actually going to turn into the primordial soup from whenst they came.

Shit. Maybe this is middle age?

Don't get me wrong. I'm still eccentric and foolish. I still wear my heart proudly on my sleeve, and have my laundry in plain view for all to see... but for the most part, i'm just good.

And no matter what spanners are thrown into my works (that sounds weird!), i know i'm standing tall and capable of deflecting them, or accepting them, however big or small.

If someone could only explain how to bottle this mastery, and share it with my dull, grumpy, angry, lousy fellow humans, we'd all be better off.

Do it. Get happy dammit. I promise, it feels really good...

Push. And Pull.

2009-07-02T17:56:00.007+10:00

How do they do it.

Boys i mean. Just when you think you've got the smarts and can ween yourself off sparkly love interest, they turn around and do, or say something umm. Well. Something cute.

RRrrr. A holes..

I wish they had the same awkward lower hand that I have, that makes them constantly write, or say, the most dumbass, bumbling, unintelligent, stupidest, nonsensical crap. Oh. god. There i go again.

It's almost like i need some sort of finger muzzle. See. Now there's an idea worth marketing.

Anyway. Stupid boy that i love: Please don't be funny anymore.

Or smart.

Or good at stuff.

Don't text me the way you do, late at night.

Don't surprise me with lovely little treats.

Don't keep me hanging on.

Don't skype me songs i'll like.

Don't send me emails with cool words to learn.

Don't invite me to fun places you'll be.

Don't give me nice compliments.

Don't look at me with those coy, lovely eyes.

Just be mean. That way i can detest you with fervor, and enjoy knowing that you aren't worth the trouble.

But hang on...if you leave me without that delicious funny feeling, what on earth would there be left for me to write about ?

Maybe just don't leave me this way...

ATLAS sound

2009-07-01T14:12:00.004+10:00

There i was. Working away. Minding my own business. All but content from having seen Deerhunter play the week before. Songs and Naked On The Vague supported the gig.

They were great.

When. There, in my inbox came the sentence.

Atlas Sound will play a secret gig at Black & Blue this Friday Night. Get. There. Early.

I did.

And yet, the line for people to get in went around the block and all the way up the street, and possibly further, but i was wearing high heels, and for the sake of writing it on my blog, didn't feel like seeing just how far.

Just like moses, however, a section close to the front opened up, and let me in...

Up the stairs, the atmosphere was so nice, with a very curious, musical, appreciative smattering of young hipsters leaning and laughing against the artful walls of the sweaty room. Some even smiled at me.

And Bradford began. Everyone stood. Quietly. And in awe. And then realised that no-one could see. And so one by one, like a whimsical mexican wave, the entire front section sat down.

I don't know why. But it was moving. How cool are people?

Anyway, the show proceeded, for quite some time. A couple of hours i expect went by. And it was phenomenal. It was all encompassing. And raw. And real.

And I feel so blessed to have been there to witness his musical prowess, and gutter humour.

You might like Atlas Sound. You might not. You might not even know who they are. Whatever. All i'm sayin is, i know a genius when i see one.

Don't Worry. You Look Nicer Than Everybody Else.

2009-07-01T13:30:00.003+10:00

Like a light shining at the end of a long dark tunnel, Stephanie Downey is a godsend.

One part inconspicuous, and two parts amazing, the label, DRESS UP, is a hidden cult favourite amongst those in the know.

One of these lovely, loyal followers has taken it upon themselves to present Dress Up's SS10 collection on a recently launched website, THE BLACKMAIL.

Here is the full article and super imagery to boot.

Stephanie Downey has also created an exclusive selection of reworked garments for the FAT stores in Melbourne. I imagine these treasures will disappear before they even arrive. Aren't they lovely?

www.dressup.net.au

Gallery.

2009-07-01T10:15:00.001+10:00

Gimmie Shelta

2009-06-30T09:45:00.006+10:00

Rittenhouse - purveyors of all things fine, traditional and ever stylish have released their anticipated high summer 2010.

As you may well expect, it is an entire range of garments that one just can't live without. I'm not quite sure how every single season they manage to design so many pieces that i really have to have.

Interesting fact: Most of the Rittenhouse favourites i own, i have in all colour ways. That's embarrassing isn't it. Oh. And actually not really that interesting after all.

It's just that when they get worn so often, and appreciated like they do, i can't imagine how i'd cope if something happened to said garment.

Not that I lose things (except my mind on occasion. Ahem. Friday night. Anyone?).

But, you know... My Flower Print T Shirt might get thrown into the wash with my flatmate's long red jumpsuit for example. Disastrous.

Sigh. If just a stupendously covetable collection, season after season, isn't enough either, things just got even better.

Swim suits.

Sorry, i'd like to write more, but i'm too busy standing in the Warrior Pose getting the old thighs nice and tight so i can get one in every print / style.

But wait. There's more...

Rittenhouse have created an exclusive Summer beach Umbrella with Shelta. THE traditional, Australian made, cotton covered, wood poled beach umbrella. Since 1911. And it is a m a z i n g.

The print is the Lucia print, and is taken from the Rittenhouse archives.

There is a rather lovely feature on it in the most recent Doing Bird. And there is a beautifully written article on Canvas Magazine. In fact, all of Canvas is pretty spectacular.

www.rittenhouse.com.au

You, send me.

2009-06-29T11:03:00.005+10:00

It's Summertime and the living is easy.

Okay. it's actually not. It's just about the middle of winter, but...

1. i'm completely inspired by this g l o r i o u s weather outside, and
2. i want to absorb this song into my every pore.

I want to be the song. If i could, i'd sprinkle it on my raw muesli of a morning. Or inject it into my veins.

Do you have a song like that?
I tell you, they come to me every other day, but this one's a stayer. You know. A song that you'd say 'if i ever get married, this'll be the down-the-isle number'.

Ohhhhh. It drives me to distraction. Isn't Sam Cooke stupendous?

Anyway, i just thought i'd share it with you. You've gotta feel how i'm feeling. It doesn't get any better than this, does it?

Download it. Burn it, copy it. Whatever. Play it on your morning walk, bike ride, drive to work.
One of these mornings you're gonna rise up singing...

Passer By, These Are Words

2009-06-23T19:43:00.007+10:00

I always want to speak with you. At the end of every day, i could call you and ask after your day.

I would tell you my day was wonderful. And when you told me your day wasn't, i'd say "actually, mine wasn't that good."

Every so often i dream up ideas, and reasons to call. And then i get angry that you haven't called instead. So i don't call you. And i try to stay mad...for no good reason.

I like watching you appear on skype. Sometimes i play cool songs in case you're taking notice. I also like it when you write funny things to me and i laugh out loud. I wonder if you know when you write it, that it'll make me laugh out loud.

Do you know that i might meet someone else at any time and not want to speak to you anymore? Would it matter?

Anyway, i'd still know what was going on. Even though you travel for work all the time. Even though you have plenty of other friends. I'd still secretly wonder about you. And the what if's.

The end.

Pretty Telling I Suppose...

2009-06-23T15:00:00.003+10:00

Dear All.

I love Samuel Hodge.

There.

I said it.

I've known it for a while. And at first I thought it was unrequited (like most of my loves). But now i know, the feelings are mutual.

I fought hard to make him all mine. He's big o/s you know. Not big, as in 6ft, bulging biceps. Big as in obsessive fan club, big.

Anyway.

Next Wednesday (from 6-8pm) you can catch a glimpse of Sam when he launches his most recent book, that has been kindly published by the remarkable Rainoff Books.

The book is called, "Pretty Telling I Suppose" and is 72 pages, Hardcover, Cloth Bound, Foil Stamped, Full colour and Offset with a foreward by Gert Jonkers.

Oh gosh. I need a cigarette.

The 'Temporary Bookstore' for which this shindig will take place, continues forth for 2 weeks, and will feature selected titles from cult favourite book publishers from around the world. You will find publications, magazines and records that are not currently available for purchase anywhere else in Australia.

Rainoff Curated Temporary Bookstore is at 25/114 Burton Street, Darlinghurst from July 1st 2009.

Incidentally, it happens to be my favourite shop front in Sydney.

Samuel. Congratulations. Don't forget about me when you're getting piggy backed around Paris and New York by slaves.

Remember who shone your shoes when you were a lowly pub dweller. Okay, maybe i didn't actually shine your shoes, but i would've asked someone to do that, if you'd asked...

And remember, true love means never having to pay for photos to go on my walls...

Home Is Where The Heart Is

2009-06-15T12:36:00.003+10:00

Of course, I love The Selby. As predictable as I am, you should have figured it'd be on the top of my RSS list.

You should also know by now, i'm slow on the uptake. I like to discover things in my own time.

If something becomes a phenomenon, I turn up my nose and turn a blind eye. It's a habit. I'm not a snob, i promise. It's an involuntary reaction.

I don't think i got to rebel enough as a child, having been reared by wolves. I mean hippies. Our lines of communication were wide open and thus, nothing was ever hidden, and there was no opportunity for revolution.

And so, as an adult, my adolescence is only now kicking in. For months and months friends have been ranting about Vampires and Where The Wild Things Are and, well, you know...All those fads that seem to be widespread and growing vehemently like ivy.

And. I have a confession.

I spent yesterday evening holed up in the dark, watching half of season 1 of True Blood. And i liked it.

I don't know why. I mean, look. I watched it on my macbook, because I don't own a television, so it wasn't dynamic.

The acting, whilst hypnotic, isn't that great. And hell, it's about Vampires.

But i'm hooked.

I'm still in a little bit of shock. Oh god. I know. Delete my RSS if you're as appalled as I am. I understand. But do consider for a minute, how easy it is to become obsessed over things.

Go on. Admit it. A TV show. A t-shirt. A band. A website. A person. Another person... It can happen to you.

And that is why it's surreal and exponentially more exciting when two obsessions combine.

Here, my obsession for The Selby, and my obsession for the divine Natalie Wood mutated in one, blood sucking, feverishly grand hit.

Fangs for listening.

...Sorry. I couldn't help it.

Adoration

2009-06-12T11:15:00.005+10:00

My friend, Jeff Burch.

Is a writer. Is a publisher. Is a photographer. Is a musician. Is an art director. Is a thinker. Is unusal. Is intelligent. Is moody. Is rather inspirational. Is wonderful. Is a good car mate.

Here are some of his pulchritudinous, artful pictures. They deserve to be shared with the world.

A Study In Feeling

2009-06-11T16:58:00.006+10:00

I have my own particular sorrows, loves, delights; and you have yours.

But sorrow, gladness, yearning, hope, love, belong to all of us, in all times and in all places.

Music is the only means whereby we feel these emotions in their universality.

The Nervous Breakdown...And Other Cautionary Tales

2009-05-28T15:16:00.003+10:00

Sad news folks. I. Have. Nothing. To. Say.

I think if i were a writer, i'd have writer's block. A songstress - Laryngitis. Seamstress - Blistered, bleeding fingers. Philosopher - Brain damage.

I need a mask. Someone or something to communicate my sentiments for me. There must be a way for the trapped feelings and thoughts to deliver themselves forth.

Alas.

A Piano has come to save the day.

I played when i was very small. But i gave up because i couldn't play everything i heard straight away. And, my hands were quite small (being that I was only 6 years old), and i couldn't reach over one octave. I hope now that i'm 31, my hands have grown.

My new piano teacher (thank you kind person for recommending him to me) asked me what I wanted to learn to play. All the zillions of memories came to me of all the zillions of occasions i heard a musical piece and pined for it to be coming from my twitching fingers...

And now that i'm mere moments away from achieving a lifelong dream, i'm drawing a blank.

What to play. What to play.

And all of a sudden, my boredom has come undone.

Be sure to know this. Whether for my own simple pleasure, or for the children i'm yet to have, this meagre dream of mine has shone a light, giving me a glimmer of anticipation in a quiet and sultry time.

"The Piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Indeed.

Blossoms Will Run Away...

2009-05-05T17:38:00.004+10:00

Like a soulful and heartfelt song or soundtrack to a childhood tale, Blossoms Will Run Away, Karla Špetić’s third collection, is a veritable network of emotions and memories.

And there I was. Front row...teary eyed.
I was a young girl. Running after a boy. In a field of flowers and butterflies. We were in love. We wanted to kiss. I was naive. He was innocent.

And petals sprayed wherever we went, like a thunderstorm, nay, a whirly whirly of beauty and sensuality.

Karla Spetic, you made me feel all these things and more. And apparently, many others felt it too.

One whole fashion team swarmed me after your show, begging to get their hands on every piece. Trust me. I want them too.

For all our mega late nights. For all the lack of sleep. And the weeping and exhaustion, you managed to portray the happiest moments in all our lives...

Here's to Beginnings. Love. Fear. Feeling.
Her heart reaches underneath the ground.........

p.s. if you too want the soundtrack, here is the track listing.

1. Cat Power - Time Is On My Side (from Speaking For Trees)
2. Gila - Beach House
3. Picking Up The Pieces - Woods
4. Lay And Love - Bonnie "Prince" Billy
5. Gang Bang Suicide - Kevin Drew
6. Ole Rinka - The Ruby Suns

www.karlaspetic.com

Beside Ourselves

2009-05-05T17:15:00.004+10:00

Like light and darkness, or black and white, BESIDE OURSELVES is juxtaposed with tricky exploitation of garments that have the ability to take on different meanings.

Gary explains "i wanted to showcase the two sides of a personality, exposing the side of that sometimes people don't often get to see..."

Gary's show presented at 5pm on Thursday 30th April. It was our third show in at RAFW and by this stage, i'd all but given up. On high heels. On smiles. On seating guests. On Natural Confectionery for a quick high. On the idea of staying sober whilst working...

And then the models began to get dressed. And like ethereal, almost alien-like creatures, in their towering heels and obscure garments, i was transformed into a world of make believe. Where anything is possible, and fashion is about fun and form (not about hierarchy and goodie bags).

And Gary's smiling face, and wooden heart necklace spun me back down to earth and made me realise what I love about my job. The good people.
Thank you Gary. You're the Clown Doctor I never had.

www.garybigeni.com

It is from zero, in zero, that the true movement of being begins...

2009-05-05T16:54:00.004+10:00

Beat Poet showed their SS10 collection to a full house at RAFW last week. Filled with curious and excitable folk, the collection, a study of reduction, proportion, and the relationship between the straight line and the curve in context to the modern wardrobe, oozed a pure sophistication that had previously been unseen in these here parts...

Drawing from the Supremist Kazimir Malevich (his zero being the black square) new systems of approaching the wardrobe are put into practice through the Reductionist Manifesto.

Possibly one of my proudest RAFW moments, Beat Poet took my breath away.

From very moment of conception for this show, to the lasting sound of the claps and cheers from the overwhelmed crowd, Ed. James. You've brought this old gal to shed a tear. Of joy.
And without wavering, or shying away from their pure vision, Beat Poet's show, was true to their very souls.

The Reductionist zero form is the empty circle, the pure hollow form that communicates more through what is absent than through what is present.

You know, sometimes....less is more.

www.beatpoet.net

Merci Beaucoup

2009-04-28T21:09:00.003+10:00

You know i've always raved about the beautiful and charming Garance Dore. She's a smart and sophisticated wonder of a woman, whom i strongly admire and whose site i look to for all kinds of inspiration.

It's been so nice seeing her lovely face around the RAFW confines, and even nicer to know the visiting blogger has taken a liking to Jade Sarita Arnott of Arnsdorf, after having met her in melbourne last week over dinner.

Jade was super thrilled to be in Garance, and Scott Schuman's company, and found herself being seconded to feature on Garance's infamous site.

I don't blame Garance for wanting to share Jade with the world. I know just how she feels...

Fa Fa Fa Fa Fashion

2009-04-28T19:34:00.007+10:00

And so this is Fashion Week.
How have I the time to post? I call it therapy. Well. in between sessions if you will.

So, yesterday was day number 1. I call it, 'The Day I Lost My Mind.'

Let's just say, that the lowlights were there enough to ensure a healthy medicare rebate at the end of each week for the next few years.

But, let's not dwell on the Great Seating Fiasco of 2009 shall we? Let's move onto the highlights and most important news. Which is...

ARNSDORF.

This is what the people have to say:

Garance Dore: "Jade struck with me with her totally relaxed way she talked to me about her work. Merde, so young, with her own brand, soon to be sold all the way in Europe and her own shows… How do you do it? With all this going on, you can still stay so chill?”

Damian Woolnough - Vogue: "Some structure and order arrived at Rosemount Fashion Week with a concise and singular vision from Jade Sarita Arnott…the show was called And You Love, and we do.”

Pip Vassett - Pagesonline: "Favourite looks included a particularly dreamy sheer tangerine dress with pieces of fabric sewn on in sections (it reminded us of a the old hankercheif in the pocket trick favoured by clowns and B-grade magicians) along with an entire cobalt blue pant and blouse look that we wanted to rip straight from the runway."

And they continue. Grazia, Harpers Bazaar, Marie Claire, A New Muse, Frontrowdiary....all have given Jade and her beautiful SS09/10 collection, the big thumbs up.

And so they should. And you love.

x x
p.s. if you want hear the song that inspired the title of the collection, click here. the song is called Hawks. The whole album makes me want to cry, laugh, scream, throw my hands in the air in love, pull out my hair, and kiss one thousand people all at once.

L O W L I F E

2009-04-14T22:50:00.004+10:00

So...i forgot to mention, i have a new blog...

LOWLIFE

Not that i don't love to trip the light fantastic with my wild and whacky words on this here blog, but gee, when you've got absolutely nothing to say, or for when a picture tells one thousand words, lowlife comes to the rescue.

Friends, lovers, enemies, have a little gander.
Leave your troubles behind and drift, for just a minute in your day.
I do.
But shhhhh.
Don't tell anyone.
I'm supposed to be working.

Share The Love

2009-04-14T22:28:00.003+10:00

Do you know what i love about working really really hard?

Sympathy.
When you tell other people the next day, that you were still at work at 11.45pm and they look at you like you just told them you regularly eat poo...I love that. Then they usually say "wow. you poor thing..."

It makes me feel good. i'm not sure why?

Perhaps i'm a martyr. Is that the definition for that behaviour?

The thing is, this is the only time of year I really get to cash in on this, because frankly, you just need to utter the words fashion week, and with a confused (or knowing, depending if they're in the industry) nod, they grasp the fact that what they're staring at, is a lowlife workaholic. And they feel bad for you.

Or envious. That you get to be so involved in something that, to some (depending if you are in the industry or not), is the epitome of glamour.

Something else that's really great that comes out of this time of year...thinness.
Well, i guess not entirely thinness, but certainly a shedding of at least 1 or 2 extra centimetres.

The lord above only knows how, though.
Last week in the office at 10pm, I ate m&m's for dinner. Now I salivate like I want to vomit when I see chocolate. Hey. There you go.

It's quite an anomaly though, for, here at m&p we're renown for our health food lunchtimes. Brown rice with steamed veggies, Salad's galore, and don't get me started on wheat free goodness. But i tell you, at midnight, when you're staring down the barrel at another all nighter, Dorito's and Pop never looked so good.

There's one other thing i really love about the lead up to Fashion Week. It's writing emails to other industry folk at 3.20am....and getting an instant reply.

Here, here hard workers. We're all in this together. ....

Upside Down

2009-04-09T09:56:00.003+10:00

Well, dear readers, it's fashion week. Well, not yet, but it's the weeks leading up that make my hair go grey, and my blood vessels burst. And give my eyes black circles. And my fingers, RSI. And my friends all hate me, and my family disown me.

Anyone who says fashion is glamorous, clearly doesn't work in fashion.

But don't we just love the challenge and the chaos of it all?
And the friends and helpers that come out of the woodwork to put their hands up and chip in...
That's what I love about this time of year the most. Meeting and having wonderful, creative, talented, like-minded people around as a team, working towards a similar goal.

Either that, or they're just there to try to catch a glimpse of a semi naked model in a state of undress.

But for everyone helping team m&p (heavenly staff, printers, production teams, img'ers, picture takers, lighting directors, music makers, financial sponsors, couriers, visionaries, graphic design whizzes, and artistes)
...and for the long hours, and the bending over backwards to get this darn show on the road, i am grateful. More than you know. And you're amazingness doesn't go unnoticed.

For, next time, when you need me, I will be the one doing back flips for you. Happily.

Keep a look out for Arnsdorf, Beat Poet, Gary Bigeni and Karla Spetic at RAFW 27th April - 1st May 2009.

Newsstand

2009-03-18T15:29:00.004+11:00

Read all about it.
There are so many beautiful magazines in the world. And innumerable incredible and clever fanzines. It's getting rather difficult to keep track i tell you.

I've started buying online, because i just can't find all the ones that i like in regular news agents. And because Sydney doesn't have a Mag Nation...sigh... Well. It's my only option.
Don't get me wrong though. I love getting mail.

Especially books and magazines.
I think i alone keep Amazon.com in business.

For some reason i'm quite paranoid, and generally don't like to give out all my cherished secret sites, or special finds. But, you've caught me in a generous mood. And my phone is now fixed after being out of action for 6 days. So, what the hay.

Hold tight people. Bookmark these sites. They are major breakthroughs, in fashion, design and art terms anyway.

Feel free to show me yours. As i, have now shown you mine.

Nieves

The Journal

TV Books

WAR

The Glossy Zine

Hobo Magazine

A Magazine curated by

Best Foot First

2009-03-18T14:44:00.006+11:00

Often collaborating with long established fashion houses and artists alike, Rittenhouse recently teamed with award winning Sydney born, Swiss bred industrial designer Stefan Lie in conjunction with Japanese manufacturer Tokyuama, to offer the “PLIÉ” shoe.

Inspired by origami and beautifully hand made in Japan from the finest leather, the shoe was made out of a brief whereby Stefan was asked to create a hybrid; “I was commissioned to produce footwear with the durability of a shoe, but with the openness and lightness of a sandal.”

Stefan found by using fine leather strips he could achieve the combination of strength and openness. The material also had the benefit of giving the shoes an unusual amount of flexibility, hence the name, PLIÉ.

Rittenhouse incorporates their signature style on the inner sole of the shoe, which is sold in selected stores throughout the world in limited edition, and on the Rittenhouse webshop.

Hot Under The Collar

2009-03-18T13:36:00.003+11:00

Not too long ago, i sent Bree a hilarious image of a divine Zebra sweater.

It started a plethora of reciprocated emails with images of knitted glory.

Everyone has had one at one point in their lifetime. The ostentatious jumper.

Either your mum made you wear them. Or they were worn thinking it was "ironic". You weren't and it wasn't. But looking at it this way, i now see that maybe it was...just a little awesome.

Here is my special homage to the sweater.

Comeback Queen

2009-03-18T12:48:00.002+11:00

This morning, WWD reported that Jil Sander, who's been rumored to make a design comeback (some speculated for her eponymous line), has now signed a "design consulting agreement" with Japanese clothing empire Uniqlo, in addition to developing a special Uniqlo collection.

The queen of '90s high fashion minimalism meets the king of high-street minimalism? Sounds like a match made in style heaven. Though Raf Simons has helmed the house since 2005, we took a trip back in time to bring you some looks from Jil's past collections, which include simple, dreamy dresses, a cool and comfy pair of cotton shorts, and a sleeveless biker vest that preempted Alex Wang's hot-to-trot 2008 version.

Will Jil turn out similar goods for Uniqlo? Slouchy sweaters, tailored skirts, pretty frocks? Yes, please!

- refinery29

That's Entertainment

2009-03-16T15:17:00.005+11:00

Here is a lovely blog for the dapper gentleman in us all.

Ummm. That sounds weird if you happen to be a girl.

Let's try that again.

Look at this amazingly dandy blog, by a rather clever young cavalier in the making.

Hmmm. Nope. Still sounds awkward.

Cool blog HERE?

Check this shit out?

Rss feed me?

Whichever way you look at it, this very interesting blog shows an alluring point of view, for its author has quite the eye.

Follow his salesman's diary by clicking THIS.

Props Huw. Props.

something like a phenomenon

2009-03-12T14:45:00.003+11:00

It's just a dangerous bend
On a slippery slope
Another rainbow's end
On the highway of hope
It's always next time
Always next time
Always last time

Just get me out of this jam
It's stuck to me like glue
And I can't remember who I am
My memory lost on you

I had things inside my head
And they put me behind them
Though they'd be safe in my head
And now I just can't find them

It's just a trick of the light
And some sleight of hand
Another kiss goodnight
Along the rise of man
And it's the last time
It's the last time
'til the next time

It's gone and that's too bad
The best thing that I ever had
Had the whole world in my mouth
Ate it up and spat it out

- a like letter;

to a man that gave me his heart. gave me his hand. gave me his eyes. and showed me his land.
stole my mind. stole my soul. took my life and made it whole.
know that you will always be dear. maybe not in part. but always in kind.
heavy handed, and fully stranded, i'm lost without you. ..

art direction - by guest blogger, Mike Huynh

2009-03-12T14:16:00.003+11:00

"Fashion can be beautiful and it can be ugly. Through my intense interest of this world of late, I'd like to think it has always captured a great allure, one with assertive intelligence and very much a part of our lives.

Fashion for me is a hybrid system of Design. A designer chooses what and which method, but the process of choosing fabric, materials and creating it is the same. And when the balance is just so, there may well be a sense of subtle elegance.

Alongside Fashion, design and typography have a similar elegant sensibility. The choice of typography (typeface, color, size), coupled with a working grid and art-directed images, you begin to appreciate immensely how editorial pages are so thoughtfully designed.

Here are just only a few examples that have caught my eye."

Mike Huynh is the editor of online fashion, design and culture site Cultures In Between. Recently re-vamped, the website is authoritative and beautifully created. I implore you to bookmark it.

Trashed

2009-03-09T11:18:00.005+11:00

Okay. Okay.

I've recently discovered that on a night somewhere between Thursday 26th Feb, and today (12 March), i have somehow been drugged. I have been given a partial frontal lobotomy. And am now suffering with severe hallucinations...

Upon first writing this hilarious post, i have since discovered that the real Fraser Anderson bamboozled me into thinking that the man I challenged on Pod War night was in fact him, and not the extremely talented, quiet (but deadly) over-achiever, Conor (last name unknown).

I wrote this post after i had been brainwashed into thinking that one Fraser Anderson was both the person in question Escaping From Babylon, and the man, slip sliding his Michael Jackson moves all over the blue and white adidas painted floor, rather than poor old Conor who i figured must've been a mere figment of my imagination...

Alas, I have been exorcised, and now I see, that there are two different men before me, who have probably never even met each other.

Conor most likely hates rubbish. And Fraser, well, he probably knows less about Reggae than a snowman knows to Rumba.

Forgive me. For, my momentary lapse of reason, has even ME confused. But if you'll let me indulge in a little, embarrassed rant, I can tell you that there will be at least one person who might find this stupendous story amusing... (blush blush)

I give you, the great Pod War mix up of 2009:

As a self confessed collector, i was bemused and altogether bewildered by a picture i came across recently.

And continuing on from this strange phenomenon of six degrees which seems to be following me around lately (double negative?), it was much to my delight, when the world's collided and on one recent fateful and messy night, i found myself at war with one Fraser Anderson on the decks (okay, they were iPod speakers), dueling for glory.

Unaware that my arch nemesis was actually someone whose work i was secretly admiring, i showed no mercy and aurally kickboxed my way to hopeful stardom.

Alas, Anderson pipped me at the post with a trans-genre classic, and he was crowned, winner.

Being the competitive, (control) freak that I am, and saddened by my rubbishing, i googled the man in question, hoping to come to my own on our next encounter, only to reel in shock horror to find that my enemy was in fact responsible for my latest object of awe.

Goddammit.

And so, in honour of the man who can happily say he's trashed me, and i liked it, here is Fraser Anderson's Garbage Snowman.

A footnote to the man in question:

Anderson. You may have won the last few rounds, but buddy, get your gloves on, cause i've been making it easy for you. And if you think those fancy dance moves will distract me from the task at hand...think again. I've got my eye on the prize. My eye. on the prize...

Garbage Snowman

...help me : }

Six Degrees

2009-03-06T17:35:00.005+11:00

ad-dic-tion

- noun

the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming.

i know. i know.

here is the same incredible photographer Lina Scheynius - as just mentioned, with styling by camille bidault-waddington.

this blog is beginning to look a little like 6 degrees of separation. (speaking of addiction...)

ENJOY!

Shutter

2009-03-06T17:09:00.003+11:00

Oh gosh.

My collection of pictures is growing by the dozen. My dang facebook page is like a teenage girl's bedroom wall. My 24" iMac's desktop looks like a messy floor, and its screen saver is like a crazy collectors scrap book.

And oh, how i love it. Surrounded by images that, each in their own way, speak a thousand words.

They're for the times i have nothing to say...(yes, there are those times!). Or for when the right words just can't make it out. Or even when the perfect words flow but need an accompaniment to maketh the point.

This little diamond has found her way into my bookmarks, and boy o boy. Talk about amazing.

Lina Scheynius is a visual poet with a perfect eye for capturing a moment usually hidden between lovers, or when on one's own.

Yes, it's like spying, but hey. We're all liberal right?

Check her out. Sexy. Emotional. Titallating. Captivating. Inspiring. And goddamn good.

T e a m i n g with talent

2009-03-05T15:53:00.004+11:00

So that last post about Dane Lovett was done, firstly out of love and respect for his work. Really, he's totally amazing and suitably clever.

But the other reason i chose to write about him is because he is the lover of another of my stupidly talented friends, Kirra Jamison - the other spectacular artist i've written about recently.

Aren't they annoying.

Clever. Destined for greatness. Creative. Kind of funny (when they want to be). In love. And did I mention beatiful?

Heaven's to betsy. How do some people get all the luck?
It should be illegal for really amazing people to get together. It's a waste for all the stupid, slightly unattractive people that need a better other half to make them look good.

Here is a list of other really hot, amazing, clever, creative a n n o y in g couples i wish would just break up so as to disperse the talent pool further afield:

Jarvis Cocker & Camille Bidault-Waddington

Dash Snow & Agathe Snow

Emma Balfour & Andrew Cowen

Sofia Coppola & Thomas Mars

Johnny Depp & Vanessa Paradis

Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin

Frankie Rayder & Michael Balzary (extra annoying is their kido's brilliant name: Sunny Bebop)

It's not that i'm bitter and feeling disparate. i just think, if you're gonna do the hook up, perhaps think about maybe finding someone less exhilarating than yourself, leaving hope for the rest of us mediocre mortals... that's not too much to wish for, is it?

Love to love you baby

2009-03-05T15:43:00.002+11:00

LOVE TO LOVE YOU BABY
DANE LOVETT

FIRSTDRAFT
116-118 CHALMERS STREET SURRY HILLS NSW 2010
WEDNESDAY TO SATURDAY 12-6PM | WWW.FIRSTDRAFTGALLERY.COM

25 FEBRUARY - 14 MARCH 2009
OPENING 6-8PM WEDNESDAY 25 FEBRUARY

DIE YOUNG

In 1875, William Fearing Gill rushed to Fordham cemetery to save someone who was already dead. Virginia Poe, child bride of Edgar Allan Poe, deceased some twenty-five years, was disturbed in her repose by the shovel of George W. Spence. The cemetery was being razed to the ground, and Spence, the sexton in charge of exhumation and relocation, was shifting corpses, scattering dust and disposing of the great unclaimed. Virginia Poe was spared this fate, although not ignominy, as Gill plucked what remained of the child bride – bones and dust – from the sexton’s shovel and transferred her to a tidy and discrete box, subsequently lodged under his bed. It was an indecorous end to an abbreviated life.

Spence was there too when the child bride was eventually re-interred, this time beside her husband, who was himself subject to the impropriety of exhumation – the exposure of bleached bones and cracked skull to an uncomprehending sky. Contemporary accounts report that Poe’s coffin and the man inside were in a state of good preservation, after more than a quarter of a century. The long, bony hands of the skeleton were clasped together, as they had been in death. The skull bore marks of greater decay: from the upper jaw the teeth had become dislodged, but the lower set knew no corruption. A few little hairs still clung to his forehead. Spence would recall to a gentleman visitor, how Poe’s brain ‘rattled around inside just like a lump of mud, sir’

So reunited, the final resting place of husband and wife was marked by an imposing marble and granite edifice, their names inscribed for perpetuity: Virginia Clemm Poe – Born August 15, 1822, Died January 30, 1847; Edgar Allan Poe – Born January 20, 1809, Died October 7, 1849.

The prolonged illness and premature death of his child-bride Virginia, a first cousin whom he married when she was but thirteen years old, haunted Edgar Allan Poe’s death-driven short prose and poetry. She is Annabel Lee, ‘my life and bride/In the sepulchre there by the sea/In her tomb by the sounding sea’; she is Lenore, ‘the queenliest dead that ever died so young’

There is only one existing authenticated image of Virginia Poe, a watercolour painted at her bedside in the hours after her death. Fittingly, it’s a post-mortem portrait, in which youth is forever fixed and beauty never diminishes. This image of a pale, sideward glancing girl, who even in life was described as ‘unearthly’, as ‘pure white’, is the model for Dane Lovett’s tender jewel-like painting, Virginia. The artist’s new body of work stands as a mediation on fleeting youth, on imperilled beauty and the transcendent power of iconic images.

For the ravages of time are everywhere apparent and who would not wish to stop its cruel march, to preserve ripeness, youth and beauty, in an arresting image, in a memorial portrait, in a tiny, discrete box, stowed safe under the bed-slats, or in a photograph of former greatness. Untitled (1963) is the Mick Jagger of our imagination; love’s young dream captured at a moment of compelling power and incipient promise. But the fear of corruption, the inevitably of decay, of wrinkles and Rolling Stones reunion tours remain, and is inscribed in the gothic, gloomy landscape – the murder-site mangroves – with which boy Jagger is paired. This is the ‘ghoul-haunted woodland’ of Poe’s Ulalume; ‘the skies they were ashen and sober/the leaves they were crisped and sere’.

Time, as Dane Lovett suspects, is a killer, creeping through the gloom, a snatcher of bodies, a scatterer of dust.

- KATRINA SCHWARZ 2009

(p.s. i love the word scatterer...eb)

Opportunity knocks

2009-02-23T17:49:00.004+11:00

so. here's the thing.

they say that the length of time it will take to recover and mourn your break up, is half the length of your relationship.

okay. so basically that means that i'm doomed to sit and rot until october 14th 2012. sounds like a blast.

i'm defying this hideous concept and saying to anyone out there who'll listen "rise above it". there is a lot of heartache to deal with, and yes, it certainly doesn't disappear overnight. but. it does disappear. the hurt that is. not the memories. nor the love, so to speak.

but one day, you'll wake up and hop in the shower and realise you feel lighter. the guilt/frustration/sadness/pain has eased. and you are almost whole again.

and there is no baggage. just a happy smile when you think of them.

this is the perfect time to start to tell other people you like, that you like hanging out with them. slowly but surely, all your confidence comes back. your sparkle comes back. your positivity comes back. and you're shiny and happy and ready for everything. or anything. and things do start to happen.

sidewards glances. dances. taking chances. changing stances. ahhh. what a glorious and extra ordinary metamorphosis.

caterpillers take note. your hairy little wings are just waiting to grow. they're there. they just need time...

in the mean time...keep your peepers open, for opportunity and nice things are there. they're just lying behind a door that hasn't opened yet.

oh. and if all else fails, you can always go on anti-depressants. ..or actually wait the designated time. who knows. by then, perhaps you'll just be able to grow your next lover on a mouse...

What Happens In A Black Hole Stays In A Black Hole

2009-02-23T16:38:00.003+11:00

i stumbled across this beautiful photographer today.
i wish someday someone clever will take these kinds of photos of me and i can keep them forever and ever in memory of the days we spent together.
some people say you don't need photos to remind you of good times.
i think they really help...

tim barber

honey is a sweet fluid

2009-02-17T14:57:00.005+11:00

"honey bunny

my baby girl friend

sweet heart

my sugar girl friend

where are you

eyes of blue dear

you are my

my everyday girl

and everyday, everyday

i think of your smile"

- vg

although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called... ..

- wtp

Please?

2009-02-16T10:42:00.005+11:00

dear all.
i'm putting this call out to you.
i know it's incredibly selfish / indulgent / obnoxious, but, for those of you who are well aware of my fondness (obsession) for mister johnny depp, and especially my longtime love affair with the mastery that is edward scissorhands, you'll understand why i'm dying on the inside in the hope that some dear kindred soul will afford this keepsake for me. asking price: $4000-$6000.

apparently they are owned by michael jackson, who is auctioning off more of his estate...

damn you rss feed for entering into my inbox. oh cruel cruel world, please let them be mine...

please?

p l e a s e ?

Good Fortune

2009-02-11T17:22:00.003+11:00

Crush.

def 1: Crowd of animate beings

def 2: Infatuation

def 3: Compress, smash

def 4: Defeating soundly

def 5: Humiliate

you don't have to tell ME that. i know. because i'm in it.

funny how if, in everyday life, you spent time slowly walking past the same person's house every afternoon, became sweaty and red occasionally, screamed in frustration randomly, butted your head against a wall in pain, suffered from anxiety whenever the phone rang or cried whenever you saw two people kissing, someone'd smack a straight jacket on you or prescribe a damn anti-depressant before you could say Sylvia Plath...

BUT.
whack the word LOVE in there, and et voila. it's all smiles and pats on the back.

and do not get me started on the agony of having a crush. or three.
i mean, i love the fantasy element, and the thrill of the chase and the entire ecstatic fear of the unknown, but jesus h christ. wouldn't you rather just tell the person, discuss the pro's and con's and make it happen already?

it's totally unromantic. i know this. and yes, extremely uncharacteristic of my typically airy fairy self, but who wants to be predictable?

i have a box of fortune cookies in my cupboard. tonight. when i get home after a walk in the summer rain (see, the romance is still there somewhere), i shall pick at random, a small but incredibly important biscuit, crack open it's contents, and decide the future of my crushes based on the wise proverb hidden deep within its realm.

who wants to wait and see what pans out? leave it up to good fortune, i say. or hell. just call them up and tell them you want them.

see you in the asylum.

Dream Weaver

2009-02-11T11:28:00.005+11:00

Like a mythical visitor in the night, acclaimed artist Kirra Jamison's new work aptly titled "Dream Weaver" is both haunting and whimsical, and altogether - breathtaking. Really. Nothing short of miraculous, Kirra's new work is certainly reminiscent of her past work, but has an innate sense of mystiscim, which is appropriate considering the magical connotations of the collection.

Interested in what's behind the mind's eye, Kirra explores the spirituality behind Dream Catchers where legend has it that "good dreams pass through the center hole to the sleeping person. The bad dreams are trapped in the web, where they perish in the light of dawn."

The evolution between the spiritual world and our considered reality, whereby pen is proverbially put to paper, was made through a time spent in California, for, in 2007 Kirra was the recipient of the Anne & Gordon Samstag International Arts Scholarship.

Finding herself residing in a small studio with only a block of watercolour paper and a few paints, kirra poignantly recalls, "faced with my usual anxiety of needing to somehow fill space via mark making, i began a series of small abstract paintings on the paper."

Seemingly effortless, this process has resulted in the most ethereal and special bodies of work. Intersecting the happenings of her everyday life, and the beauty or darkness of her dreams, Kirra's work is fragmented and at the same time, free-flowing. This juxtaposition is where the seduction of what's real and what's not, and what's perceived by each viewer flourishes.

I implore you, have a look for yourself. Kirra Jamison is showing this work in Queensland from the 20th February - 7th March at the Jan Murphy Gallery - 486 Brunswick Street, Fortitude Valley.

Kirra will also show new work on the 22nd September in another solo exhibition at the Sophie Gannon Gallery in Melbourne.

DREAM WEAVER - EXHIBITION

Beat Generation

2009-02-09T09:56:00.002+11:00

I haven't waxed lyrical about my beloved clients for some time...

I've been a little indulgent due to the large range of emotional comings and goings, and I guess having a soapbox means I don't have a good reason why not to.

But, i've crept out of the introspective cavern for the moment to tell you about something i think warrants a whole lot of interest.

Beat Poët.

Producing tran-seasonal collections of cold, minimalist menswear, Beat Poët works toward a certain ideal of elegant subversion.

Beat Poët caters to a new breed of dandy who shares an eye for sharp proportions and an appreciation for subtle detail. The Beat Poët silhouette is based on simple geometry and clothes that fit the form.

Remaining future-focused rather than designing for the moment, the designers believe that the evolution of menswear favours style over fashion. With a particular obsession with subculture, affection for all things romantic, and an aversion towards the indulgence of luxury, Beat Poët aims to take a more utilitarian approach to menswear.

This is a label teeming with soul and a rose coloured fate. Stocked in Paris and throughout select Australian boutiques, this here video gives you a great idea of what the future holds for Australian menswear.

Chances are...

2009-01-28T11:31:00.005+11:00

...you'll wake up and feel great.

.run down the road for an early morning swim. shower. eat breakfast. brush teeth. check the weather on sunrise. dress. undress. dress. think about someone. brush teeth again. go to work.

...the day will go one way. or the other. and there are only a few things that make a mediocre day, a salubrious one.

a good song.

a good email from an intriguing admirer / stranger.

a good new word.

a good surprise package.

a good bowl of leftovers and salad for lunch.

a good result.

today. I received the first three and the last two.

five out of six ain't bad.

i also have a couple of new favourite songs.
thanks to my hours spent trawling. i found last.fm.

for my sins. this website has already given my meager musical repertoire an almighty boost.

if only i could, on occasion, trade my eloquence for actual musical aptitude...
perhaps not having the required skills gives legs to my hero complex for musicians. i think the same can be said for artists.

oh gosh. the two combined? it could be a complete collision. like sonic youth and animal collective and yo la tengo and beach house all on the same billing.

planets might oddly align. stars might fall. cars might rust.

you know...maybe that's what love is?
complete and total noise. and sombre, sullen silence. all at once.
i shall call it nilence.

on a completely separate note. here is something else i love. and shall soon have the glory of seeing very close up.

be still my beating heart.

.these pics courtesy of ACNE PAPER.

Under The Whether

2009-01-12T13:26:00.004+11:00

It all just depends.

I'm referring to my mood.

Hello. Happy New Year. Welcome to the year that everything will happen...depending on whether the weather is good.

My revelation is, that according to what shines (or doesn't) through my window of a morning, depends on what gets done for the day. It's a sad sad fact to accept, that without the sun, or shades of brightly hued blue, i'm nothing.

I'm withered and sullen. Melancholy and morose. Just a fragment of the person i'm fully capable of being on those other gloriously shiny days.

It's been a fact for quite some time, and just like most traumatic things that occur; after every grey day, and bad mood, it's forgotten about, and I'm left to wonder why i felt so crappy that day. The mood and reasoning behind it has been banked in the dark, and dastardly place where all yukky memories and thoughts reside.

But. After a lot of alone time these holidays, i realised something. It only takes less than a second to change your mind. And being that it's my god-given right to be able to regularly change my mind, why not exercise that right?

And so it's become my 2009 goal to keep my moods un-weather related, and on the happier end of the happy scale.

Welcome back all...and remember: turn that frown, upside down!

(footnote: you should know that spending three hours of utter indulgence at a blissed out day spa in Bondi the day before coming back to work, has NOTHING to do with my newfound zen attitude. www.onefi neday.com.au)

The merry year is born, like the bright berry from the naked thorn.

2008-12-18T17:15:00.003+11:00

M&P wishes you a merry christmas, and a happy & safe holiday. See you when we return on the 7th of January 2009.

The first lucky prime - 3

2008-12-09T17:00:00.003+11:00

The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery - Francis Bacon

Fresh from having sponsored Michelle Jank’s incredible costumes for the Sydney Dance Company’s recent production, Sid's Waltzing Masquerade, cult cashmere label To Sir With Love collaborated with the visionary creative force of Lorin Askill and Michelle Jank to create an awe inspiring moving art piece.

Of the specially produced project, a rather poignant and introspective Lorin explains, “I wanted to do something ethereal and mysterious that explored movement and material, but wasn't literal.

I had such a short time to think of how to approach it, so I asked Michelle to give me a framework. Once she said Francis Bacon, I decided to shoot the movement with a stills camera and capture motion (in a series of images of a SDC artist, moving with divine fluidity in TSWL cashmere), which referenced Bacon's distorted forms."

Lorin continues, "That way I could use them like brushing strokes in time, and create an impression of a form in motion. I think it created something that's somewhat elegant but with touch of bacon's torture.

I loved the space at the SDC and was so interested by the way the forms come out of nothing and then dissolve again."

Whilst Lorin expresses the process beautifully into words, verbalising his creation is somewhat challenging. Mostly because it's the most surreal and sensuous, yet intriguing piece of moving footage I have ever seen - in this context.

I know i'm suffering with a slight hero complex, because i can't do anything near like what has been created for TSWL by Lorin, but i guess the most lucid of concepts made without too deep a thought, yet with such mystery, always become the most awe inspiring.

These three magnificent forces combined, have made my heart go a flutter. Let me share it with you in the coming days. Check www.tosirwithloveonline.com regularly. It will be live before you know it.

And as for Lorin Askill and Michelle Jank. They will find you in your dreams and in your souls. They are two very unique and rare birds that, at some time in your life or another, will ruffle you in most beautiful of ways.

maps - by guest blogger, natalie smith

2008-12-02T09:55:00.004+11:00

Pack up, don't stray. Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

I like maps.

Vintage Italian world maps pinned on the wall, gorgeous antique globes, tiny city maps, scribbled directions and streets on a napkin or the back of a taxi receipt.

They're exciting. Full of possibilities and unknown adventures.

And beautiful.
Threads and networks of colours. Labyrinths and topography and constellations.

There are musical maps (http://audiomap.tuneglue.net/), and reworkings of the London Underground (http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/culturevulture/archives/2006/02/03/going_underground.html).

There is clever map art by Chris Kenny (http://www.designboom.com/weblog/cat/10/view/3379/new-map-art-by-chris-kenny.html) (pic-Map7). But best of all is are Matthew Cusick's dreamy, complex scapes (http://www.lisadent.com/ArtistWorks/Matthew/MatthewShowcase.html).

I want to get lost inside them, these maps that lead to nowhere.

http://ilovewelove.blogspot.com/

Show(off)room

2008-11-28T14:00:00.011+11:00

Ahh, the inevitable is slowly but surely reaching towards me. Two and a half years in, and we're almost full to the brim here at M.A.P hq. And so, i'm on the eyespy for ideas pertaining to a new space.

I'm not in any hurry, so i'll happily wait for the perfect location.
But. I do know that it's quite the feat. More than just rounding up the archive boxes and ferrying clothes off one rack and onto another, moving is like breaking up. And, I would know.

I've both moved over 20 times between the ages of 17 and 21, and break ups...well, let's just say, even just one is enough.

Of all my moves, the last was the hardest, but my next two, should be the most exciting. I like moving because I'm a capricorn and will simply pass away without regular change.

It's like a disease.

A constant requirement to move things around.

I'm constantly collating images of interiors, furniture, apartments and art, all in the hope that at some point, i'll get to immitate these images in reality.

And the reality is, i just never will.

I love the way you see magazines all stacked up in a great, almighty tower. It's artistic and sculptural.
Ha. Maybe in Apartmento it is. Not when I do it.

It just looks like a ginormous pile of magazines ready to topple onto an unsuspecting passer by.

I also am very fond of mood boards and inspiration walls. But the last two times I did those, my bond was docked because of the paint i'd peeled off in the removal process.

I know people have a knack for these things, and you either have it, or you don't.
I'm sure i can report. I don't.

And the worst part of it, is that it's also directly linked to my lack of personal style with fashion too.
I mean, how unfair can life get? I work in fashion, yet have no personal style, and i am addicted to interior decoration, but couldn't merchandise a bookshelf to save my life.

What I HAVE a knack for is delegating. My showroom looks immaculate, because I allow the incredulous talents of my team to merchandise looks for me, and I allow myself to take the credit.

Same with my home. I'll arrange for some super cool and clearly stylish friend to tell me what to buy and where to put it, and have many a dinner party sans stylish friend, and gloat, all the way to the dessert.

Personal style is another matter altogether. I can only credit a good hair day to my duck down pillow. Depending on the direction of my head placement on said pillow during the night, depends on my hairsytyle for the following day.

A great outfit day, is entirely dependent on chance.
It's just pure coincidence if my many expensive and glamorous clothes end up in a winning combination. But when they do, it's a good day.

It's an even better day when the hair and the outfit unite.
Almost akin to hell freezing over, but nevertheless, worth the 27 bad days to get there in the end.

Words are only painted fire;

2008-11-18T13:11:00.004+11:00

Let me just start by saying I love clothes.
I also love magazines, blogs, music, art and pictures, photographs, flowers and plants (but especially flowers – thanks Summers!), furniture, food, and dark, ominous storm clouds.

But guess what I love the most?

Books. And words. And phrases. And the occasional poem.

A few nights ago at the SOYA awards night, Adam Spencer talked about the artist who won last year who lived for an entire year speaking only in quotations.
Upon winning, she leapt onto the stage and said “ Show Me The Money – Jerry MacGuire”.
Can you imagine? What a quick wit, and extensive vocabulary one would need. Not to mention a memory to boot. Phewf.

There are some phrases/quotes I love more than others. Here are a few.

Little by little.

Chaos is a friend of mine.

You should know…

If you aren’t too long, I’ll wait for you all my life.

The future’s all yours, you lousy bicycles.

Home is where the heart is.

Blown to smithereens.

Shake a leg.

Oh. I love them. And words. They’re like the sweetest moments. When someone utilizes a word, in perfect context. Sigh. To me, that’s my spirituality.
++

Trepidation.
Scintillating.
Ennui.
Euphonious.
Diaphanous.
Meander.
Obstreperous.
Permeate.
Gesticulate.
Undulate.
Tremulous.

What about onomatopoeia? Have you experienced the pure joy of a word that is, because it sounds like it is?

Buzz
Meow
Splash
Hiccup
Wham

I’m so lucky that in my line of work, I get to surround myself with not only beautiful objects, and magnificent people, but I get to employ a plethora of fantastical words. In media releases, in pitches, in blogs, on the phone, in the occasional article…

Who else gets to create whimsy with words and get paid?

What a pleasure.

Time, is (not) on my side…

2008-11-18T13:00:00.003+11:00

So, I’m nearly 31. In 7 weeks, 5 days and 2 hours to be exact.

Where did all the years go?

1 minute I was reveling in the glory of a kinky role as fashion PR trainee (moonlighting as a bar holder uperer – Goodbar? The nineties, anyone?) at the tender age of 16 and a half, and the next, I’m too old to go on a contiki tour through Europe and two and a half years into my own business with three gorgeous full time employees and a bloody handsome part-timer.

Bree said to me the other day “I don’t remember one thing that happened in August!?”, and it got me thinking… Me neither.

Sharne, one of my adorable and invaluable M.A.P team members was born in 1989.
19.
89.

I think I might’ve been purchasing a blue rinse for my hair the day she was born.

I heard someone once say, that it’s a known fact that the older you get, the faster time goes.

At first I reeled in shock and horror at the very notion. But then I realized. Standing in front of the mirror, plucking grey hairs out of the front of my head is a pastime I’d rather not have time for.

Same goes for the hours wiled away by my scowling at teenagers jogging in the mornings wearing nothing but a bikini. A BIKINI. Not even a Speedo one at that, if you may know.

What’s with the cruel joke that is one day waking up to find your back’s outta whack, the lines around your eyes stay there even after you shower and that your boobs are now fitting better in your high waisted jeans than in your calvin klein bra (*smile* those of you who know me will giggle knowingly that my more-than-a-handfuls haven’t fitted into a CK bra since 1995, but hey…).

While I am extremely pleased with the life I’ve been given, I do fantasise about a discovering a wormhole that has the power to carry me back to the gold old days spent smoking cigarettes with older men on the hill at Bondi, kissing girls at Kinselas and traipsing into work straight from the night before.

Don’t get any funny ideas darling M.A.P girls, and boy. It takes one to know one and you’ll never get away with it. ..

I guess that’s the true beauty of age.
Experience.

Because I want to fit in.

2008-11-07T16:50:00.004+11:00

When thinking of what exactly to post on this here blog, i often reference favourite films, books and poems. That's because whilst I consider myself rather well versed, i'm not very original.

I also consider the reader (hi mum), and what they'll think of me and my wayward words.

I'm not sure why i care what others think, but just like the rest of us, i really do just want to fit in.

I don't want to be one of those people that calls themselves an individual, and wears clashing colours, or socks with high heels.

Nor do i want to give up my mobile (ahem iphone), stop eating wheat or sugar, or ride a bike to work. I love magazines. And buying clothes I can't afford and not even wearing them.

I also really enjoy going out to find myself standing next to someone wearing exactly the same shoes as me. And I like to point it out. "Hi fabulous Style Maven. You and I have the exact same shoes on! How funny!"

This is the really fun side of pr.

I like having my face in the Sunday social pages every week. I adore knowing what's "in" fashion before everyone else does. And I especially like it when people recognise me in the street.

Alexander McQueen for Target trackies and all.

Who ever says fashion isn't glamourous???

And this time of year is my favourite time of year. It's when all my supportive magazine and stylist friends, and they're ALL my best friends, come into my showroom, and check out the latest collections for the first time.

And this year...there is alot to be smug about.

My glorious designers have each outdone themselves, and i have the distinct feeling that we're all about to find ourselves in the midst of a far out, fashion feeding frenzy.

Mark my words. If you don't beleive me, check out these stupendously amazing images from bassike, Karla Spetic and D R E S S U P.

Slap me with a YSL downtown bag, and tickle me fuschia... How on earth did I get so darn lucky?

Oh, and the photo above, isn't irrelevant to this post at all. It's the root of all my inner creativity. Okay, and the image created by Katie Lockhart and Derek Henderson that has been used for my media showings invite.

Clever? Maybe. Surrounded by cleverer people? Definitely.

Evil Bear.

What light through yonder window breaks?

2008-10-30T17:48:00.005+11:00

I've seen, and helped out with so many wonderful things of late, i thought it pertinent to offer a sneak preview of the reason for my lack of attention to this here blog...

Number one.
You already know how much I love Rittenhouse. So, you can imagine my fever when Sally, one glorious half of aforementioned fashion label, showed me what her clever sister Heidi, has been up to of late:
These handmade works of art are worn on the head and are available exclusively at HOSS - 559 Chapel st South Yarra.

Sculpted from new materials, or not, these incredible pieces feature straw, feathers, antique pendants, subway stamps and duct tape - which Heidi uses to pay homage to NY artist Tom Sachs.
For enquiries 0413758181

Speaking of Russia, I saw this wonderful looking woman on a blog recently and couldn't help but post her on something. What a simple beauty. What? This has nothing to do with anything? Oh, but, the many hours I am meant to be spent thinking about work, is actually spent trawling incredible blogs from around the globe. I call it "r e s e a r c h".

All my superb labels are about to show their winter ranges. I'm SO inspired by each and every one of them. Keep your peepers peeled for some of my favourite looks.

In the meantime, here is some exciting news. From November 1oth, I, yes little old me, will be guest blogging on pagesonline's very own blog. I love pagesonline. And I love blogging (since I found out what one was, that is), so it may just be some sort of winning combination...

I plan on being hilarious, so for good times, make sure you keep checking out what's new. I warn you. There will be side splitting madness.

And whilst we're on the subject of madness. I recently began collecting things. It's a side effect to the anxiety i'm experiencing due to moving house.

The upside is, my collected objects are all really pretty.
Mostly flowers. Books. Coloured pieces of paper. And records.
Ok. The records I just collect in my head, but if i had a record player, and was cool enough to spend afternoons shuffling through yard sales to find collectible vinyl, well, then, THEN i'd have a clever record collection too.

Here is what my collected things look like: Ok, they are other people's collections, but who can tell the difference?

I THINK WE COULD DO EUPHEMIA

2008-10-21T12:21:00.004+11:00

ARNSDORF ARNSDORF ARNSDORF

ALICE ALICE ALICE

EUPHEMIA EUPHEMIA EUPHEMIA

RESIDENCY - LAUNCH.

Do you want to know what? I Think We Could Do Great Things...Spring Summer 009

www.arnsdorf.com.au

www.aliceeuphemia.com.au - Shop 6, Cathedral Arcade, 37 Swanston Street, Melbourne

www.mothdesign.com.au

Available from:
Our Spot
Blood Orange
Dilettante
Alice Euphemia

Bluer Than Velvet Was The Night

2008-10-13T16:13:00.004+11:00

But in my heart there'll always be
Precious and warm, a memory
Through the years
And I still can see blue velvet
Through my tears.. .

Let's never come here again because it will never be as much fun.

I L Y J L H...

Lost, in a Masquerade...

2008-10-10T15:58:00.007+11:00

Taken from the interview by the divine Dean Mayo Davies from Ponystep...

For Sid's Waltzing Masquerade, Australian designer Michelle Jank hooks up with the NY-based choreographer who counts Mikhail Baryshnikov as a mentor, Aszure Barton. It’s easy to see why the production is being toted as one of the most enthralling fashion/dance collaborations since Stephen Petronio’s Nick Cave-inspired ‘Underland’ in 2003, a performance in which another alternative darling, Imitation of Christ’s Tara Subkoff, penned and pinned the costumes.

Traversing the New York/ Sydney divide, the best qualities of these two forward-thinking cities are brought together in the project. New York brings the provocative, concrete grit whilst Sydney - and the Sydney Dance Company once again - adds the oceanic, gregarious personality that is needed to turn hi-concept into must-see.

Jank is something of a prodigious talent, of course - a well-bandied anecdote is that she tried to draw (her mother being an artist) before she could even walk. Her foresight has stayed with her ever since - in 1998 (and aged just seventeen) she registered her name and started to sell her jewellery designs. A year later, Jank became the first student to show a catwalk collection during the prestigious Mercedes Australian Fashion Week schedule. Joan Burstein - aka Mrs B - of South Molton Street institution Browns attended that debut show, proceeding to buy every dress that Jank presented on the runway.

Here, Ponystep catches up with Michelle for her thoughts and reflections ahead of Sid’s Waltzing Masquerade’s Sydney and then Brisbane residencies; 8th-25th October and 5th-15th November, respectively.

Dean Mayo Davies: There is the quality of balance and suspension in your work - finding a lightness in an otherwise rich, romantic approach. They’re qualities which lend themselves well to performance art and dance. Is this what intrigued you to take part in the project? To see how well this would translate?

Michelle Jank: I think I try to constantly push past my comfort zone as a creative. It’s wonderful to work in different mediums and on things that may be initially a little foreign to me. Through this, I learn new things - I delve into photography, writing, painting, styling and design; each enjoyed for their different processes but at the same time sharing the complimentary elements that one craft brings to the other. I have always admired and looked up to Karl Lagerfeld for that.

Creating costumes for stage is like working on a large scale painting, you need to utilise balance, proportion, light and dark, texture and tone... I like using modern and traditional artists as references. It’s a great challenge creating something that the dancers are able to work in, and in the greater picture, working on the visual of the stage as a whole... It’s a nice process seeing how things will move and come to life in the space, and how to create feeling with fabric to reflect Azsure’s piece. Then there is always the question raised whether to work with the movements in harmony or against them to create interesting tension. It’s a really exciting organic process.

DMD: How has this collaboration pushed you? Did you find it a cathartic experience that brought out a different side of you?

MJ: I really enjoy collaborations, I think that's where you grow most as a creative. I really live for that. I’ve worked with Daniel Askill (Dior Homme, Placebo, Air France etc), Lorin and Jordan Askill on a little art film this year, and now I’m working with dance; I think together you bring each other to a new level. I have learnt so much from Aszure - she has a really wonderful way of working with the dancers, bringing out each personality and giving them a lot of freedom. It’s been a really interesting process to watch over the last few weeks, watching people grow and flower. I would love to work on more costume design, hopefully this is the start of more costume adventures to come. Sitting in the audience last night really made me smile.

DMD: Can you talk to us about the concept behind Sid's Waltzing Masquerade, as well as your costumes? How does your process change in a project such as this? Did you have any degree of autonomy or, if not, is that what is so great about taking part, that the production is bigger than any of its’ contributors?

MJ: The piece was about working with the dancers and being inspired by them as artists. The main character, Sid, is the oldest dancer in the company; he has been with the SDC for 17 years. It’s a distorted fairytale about a character looking for his place in life.

It felt really important for the dance and costumes to bring positivity and light - it is the final production for the year for the Sydney Dance Company. It feels like the right time in the world to bring positivity.

The men are strong, simple characters in the production, so their costumes move from sharp black to white, which is contrasted by the girls who are like butterflies or perhaps birds. Each girl has their own pastel colour inspired by couture photographs from the 1950s... Garments are added, layered and grow throughout the piece. I was inspired by working with elastic, a nod to 90’s Alaïa and the mixing of masculine and feminine elements. The finale though is an homage to vintage Dior.

DMD: How did you meet Aszure?

MJ: I met Aszure via email, we were introduced by the director of the Sydney Dance Company - a few people thought we would be an ideal fit to work together. I was in London and she was in NYC and we realised pretty early on that we are birds of a feather, of sorts. It’s pretty amazing. We have very similar hearts and ways of being in the world. Quite a fortuitous meeting I think.

DMD: How have the previews gone? Any last-minute dramas?

MJ: Other than Aszure and I nearly missing the first preview, being late and almost getting locked out of the theatre it’s been really rather good, pretty magic really! It’s been a process of looking at the piece as a whole. We have been refining a few elements here and there; making adjustments when I have seen the way light and the stage effects costumes and, I think, for Aszure, some of the movement. There is a lot of last minute spontaneous inspiration that you get when things are under lights and on the stage. Those are the magic moments.

DMD: Are you back permanently in Australia now? You were based in Paris for a while...

MJ: I have been based in Paris for the last two years and am now spending a lot of my time in London (I visit Australia a few times a year for my production). I was sent back to Australia last month as an ambassador to Australian Wool Innovation, before working on the Sydney Dance Company collaboration and completing my samples for Paris Fashion Week. It’s been a rather busy time. I’m looking forward to a little quiet time soon in which to recharge myself. I have been planning to take a month off to work on my photos, some painting and writing. It’s my reward to myself for getting through this very busy patch! You never know where you might end up in my job, the future is full of very exciting surprises and I am a free bird...
DMD

www.sydneydancecompany.com
- I'd also like to add that the costumes created by Michelle Jank were made possible through the generous support of To Sir With Love. Margot, Katie, Derek, the SDC and Michelle Jank are ever thankful for you coming to the rescue.

Oh. And I just LOVE the photo's.

Clouds, Colours & The Walking Stick Boat

2008-09-29T17:43:00.020+10:00

Have you ever visited a place for the first time, and after setting down and making your way outside the airport after a dreary flight, you walk into something that just feels right?

Auckland.

What on earth took me so long to find myself there?

The first thing that struck me was the utter brilliance of a town in full bloom.

There were Magnolia's. Cherry Blossoms. Hydrangea's. Hibiscus. You name it. And how.

The beauty of such amazing colonial looking cottages, some run down, some not, with incredible colours strewn all over their garden beds, and front lawns were awe-inspiring, and just plain special.

And the geographical location. You have an innate sense of being at the beginning of the world. I don't know how. Or why. But being in a place that starts and finishes the days before any other place, anywhere, gives you a stange yet comfortable feeling.

But the most ethereal feeling, and the thing that made the biggest impression on me as I first set foot in New Zealand, is the colour palate.

My dear Katie Lockhart said it , and darn it, she's right. The city is awash with the most amazing tones and hues.

They're sometimes dull. And on occasion moody. Even bordering on eerie at certain times. But altogether sensational, and invigorating. And mythical.

I wanted to be a painter, and for a minute there, I was sure that I could be, surrounded by colours and glow that i've just never seen anywhere else. It was a marvel.

Derek Henderson, who has always blown me away with his ridiculously fantastic photos, is a genius. He captures it. I tell you. He does. The man has found a way to bottle the essence of this country and display it for all to see.

On the first night, i went off to Zambesi. I saw people I hadn't seen in years. I met people that i'll never forget. I talked to people, i can't remember a thing. I drank. a lot. But, the most amazing thing was the hospitality. I was truly looked after.

Not let out of my dear friends' sight. And chauffered from great event, to great party, to great store, to great showroom, and given the best wine to drink , and had people around me that were all doing something, well, great.

I've realised that, as I grow older, all the folks around me have gone from couch surfing hipsters, to creative wunderkind. It's miraculous and inspiring.

But, back to the Walking Stick Boat.

I was sat down on the last day of my trip, and was told the morbid tale of the day the white men arrived on ships to steal the ground.

Legend has it, that the tale teller's great great great grandfather was the then prime minister, William Massey, of New Zealand.

He walked with a stick. The walking stick had carvings all around it, and demanded respect, as all walking canes do.

The stick was given to "Farmer Bill" (as he was fondly known) on his appointment as Prime Minister in 1912. And, the story goes that this walking stick came from the burned hull of the legendary ship The Boyd.

If it's starting to sound vaguely familiar, well, it's because the tale of the Boyd Massacre, which took place in New Zealand harbour in 1809, is a bloody and brutal one. Pull up a chair. Put the kettle on. Make yourself comfy, while I tell you all about it...

The Boyd was a convict ship which sailed from Sydney Cove under the command of a Captain John Thompson, carrying about 70 passengers. Aboard the ship was George, the son of a Māori chief from Whangaroa. He asked to work his passage on the boat, but once on board he refused to obey certain orders claiming he had bad health and that he was the son of a chief. He was flogged twice as a punishment. On reaching Whangaroa, George reported the indignities he had been subjected to and showed the marks on his back where he had been whipped. The Māori formed a plan for utu (revenge).

The Maori utu plan began when in canoes and longboats that were out of sight of the Boyd, suddenly pulled weapons from their cloaks and attacked the Pakeha (foreigners), killing all of them with clubs and axes. The Maori stripped clothes from the bodies and put on the unfamiliar jackets, trousers, shoes and frock coats. One group carried the bodies to their village to be cooked and eaten.

Some people were spared, at least initially. But, eventually, the five remaining survivors were killed or taken in by Maori chiefs.
The final chapter reveals that the Maori towed The Boyd towards their pa (village) until it became grounded in mudflats near Motu Wai[Red Island]. They spent several days ransacking the ship, tossing flour, salted pork and bottles of wine overboard.

The Maori were, however, interested in a large cache of muskets and gunpowder. About 20 Maori smashed open barrels of gunpowder and tried to get the muskets working. Chief Piopio tried one of the flints, which caused a flash and explosion which rocked the ship, as the nearby gunpowder was ignited by the spark.
Piopio and nine other Maori were killed instantly. The fire swept through the ship and lit its cargo of whaleoil; soon all that was left of the Boyd was a burnt-out hull.

And from those remnants, came the perfectly almighty Walking Stick Boat. A stick that might be a cautionary tale to all. Or. It might just help an old fella to get around...

www.katielockhart.com
www.derekhenderson.net
Thanks Taylor Taylor Taylor Taylor Taylor Taylor Wall.

Staying Gold

2008-09-16T16:29:00.004+10:00

Oooh. Here is your first ever look at Rittenhouse's A/W 09 collection.

Renown for producing understated garments with an oblique twist, Rittenhouse most always apply hidden intricacies to each style, and the Autumn Winter 09 collection is no exception, with subtle touches of luxury adding extra special attention to quiet details.
That's right, always pushing the bounderies and notoriously consistent, Rittenhouse's AW09 range is completely brilliant and you'll see a lot more of it from here on in...
www.rittenhouse.com.au

Because i can - a self indulgent, look into the demonic life of a hellish PR person - conversations with my self.

2008-09-16T10:08:00.015+10:00

EVIE i have met you before. i kind of have this expectation that we should know each other inside out, but really i'm more familiar with your work. which, i keep getting told by others, is completely interesting and gloriously introspective.

Evie: wow. that's so kind of you. look, i really am not that interesting. i think though, because i have a way of telling people just how uninteresting i am, and i end up making fun of myself, i wind up coming off as. well. interesting.

it's not that often in fashion, you meet people that really aren't happy to write notes on themselves. i love it when you do. it's the reason i'm here. rather than banging your head against a wall in frustration of the monotony, you get to lovingly caress the wall and appreciate what's lingering under it's surface. again, something that people tend not to do that often in our industry.

EVIE so quite the cynic? a little dark... a little twisted?

Evie: actually, the eternal optimist. i just like to get dark now and then. i think it gives me depth. without my dark side, i'm just a stupidly nice person. how fucking boring can you get?

EVIE okay. so how did you begin in fashion and why do you love being in pr?

Evie: who ever said i love being in pr? i hate being in pr. no, can you edit that out? I hate the perception of pr and the industry. no, strike that too. the pr industry is really naff. it's a bunch of people pushing the ass out of brands, who get to go to heaps of tedious events and get goodie bags filled with crap.

and who wear gucci high heels all day, every day.
don't get me wrong. i wear the heels too. mostly because i have short person complex and feel inferior if my employees tower over me.
what i do love about what i do in this industry is really quite pure and artless.
i am blessed to be surrounded by some of the most prodigious, unique, creative and most importantly, guieless people in this country. the labels are all doing something that hasn't been seen before and that's spirituality.
and, on the other side, there are the colleagues.
i've recently started to open my eyes to people that have the most amazing things to say, show, discuss etc.. it's such a beautiful thing. and they're going places. and have more than one amazing talent. do you know what i mean? they dabble. really well. i can't imagine having one thing as my thing. i think that's the key...

Evie: i know what you mean. i mean, i guess my thing is writing and conversation. and others might point out that i have a way with words. i don't know.

EVIE i think seeing is one of my most favourable traits.

Evie: but in most other ways, i'm really void of any magnificent ability. i can't draw. i can't sculpt. i cannot sing. can't play the piano. can't speak ten languages fluently and damn well can't design clothes.

EVIE but you can talk about these things and write about them as though you might...

Evie: hmmm...interesting...

EVIE so when i started (in 1996) in fashion pr, i knew nothing. i did like the instability of having no two days the same. i'm quite unable to stay in one place for long long periods. i am far too ambitious, and recently I realised i'm actually incredibly controlling. but i think if you realise you are...it's not so bad.

Evie: and so writing one day, and casting models the next appealed right?

EVIE yes it did. so after a couple of years of really big lessons, and hard work and some subtle networking, i was head hunted and sent over to work in London with the most important hairdresser of our time, Guido Palau.
I did backstage production, assisting with media interviews, casting, crew, show schedules, team and what-not. I also worked with him to produce his beautiful book: Heads, Hair by Guido which meant working intensely with Peter Saville, Neville Wakefeild and had it published by Booth Clibbborn Editions. I spent most of my time working together with Guido, Alexander McQueen, Veronique Branquino and Raf Simons. I relish this time because it formed my actual view of where fashion fits into my life and to what extent.

Evie: don't you think some people might find all that pretty darn cool?

EVIE well, maybe some. but to me, everything that i've done, or am doing, is just an amazingly fortuitous opportunity that i happened to take. to me i'm just boring old me. dark brown eyes. romantic. overzealous. irritating. quiet at times. insecure on occasions. sickeningly happy. extremely witty and completely awkward.

Evie: is that it? just an improvisation of what you think you are?

EVIE well, what i see and what you see are different. all i know is that for me, subtlety is paramount. it's my most important life philosophy. if no-one knows anything about me i'm just as happy as if they do. as long as what's to come is shared only with my most special and trusted friends...
i just know there are just so many grand moments ahead. and that's what i like the most of all. the fact that the best...is yet to come. you know?

Evie: yes. yes i think i do know.

B.E careful what you wish for...

2008-09-09T14:12:00.007+10:00

So I have this friend....

Hmm, on second thoughts, for those of you who know me, you'll believe me more if I start this post by saying I met a person through work.

As it goes, for me, friends aren't that easily attained. Social ineptitude aside, I'm just not very cool.

Plus, being that I talk to people all day for a living, I usually end up spending my best moments with friends - on Facebook via the ramblings on the WALL.

It's so sad. And so true. I told you. Not very cool.

So...it's just lucky that I consider myself, rather adept with words, and really quite obsessed.

Each sentence and phrase requires ambiguous undertones, and hidden jokes for private eyes. Every headline is taken from obscure song lyrics or old wives tales. All media releases try to take out any normality typically associated with media releases.

For me, i'm my coolest when i'm putting proverbial pen to paper.

It's this "lack" of face to face time with friends that results in the spyglass into the soul of the creator of this here PR agency.

If it were that more of my time was found mopping up remnants of last nights dinner from the carpet of my 1930's top floor apartment after a night out at the local wine bar...then perhaps my words would be what words tend to be. Letters all in a row.

But, spending all my time at my word processor leads me to my other fixation. Finding other word (or fashion) obsessed folk and matching them to their respective windows (i.e. websites).

And so.

The last of my time "not" spent with friends, is spent on my own, traipsing through suburbs in search of material gratification. And in replacement of this hobby, i trawl the internet looking for people that know more than me. And there are plenty.

This is my latest f i e n d. Did I say friend? I meant find.

www.belindaeditorial.com

credit where extra credit is due...thanks to mister wall for the beautiful imagery.