Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Some photos I found that are assisting me out of this dry well I seem to have stumbled into.
The Tallest Man on Earth
I'm in need of inspiration. Please come swiftly.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Here are the digitals from my weekend away. I also brought my new camera, and I can't wait to get my film developed. These are all from my the antique section of a store my friend Lindsay's parents own. Among these treasures I bought a wonderful ring, with a huge amber stone in a gold setting. I can't believe I overlooked the blue heart necklace in the first photo though (I'll have to hope it's still there on my next visit!).
Display case with brooches, and necklaces
Vintage fur stole, chair and glassware
Vintage knitting and sewing patterns
Muff purse (Lindsay swears one day she is buying me this)
Oval necklace with floral detail
Vintage post cards
Velvet dress with lace inserts
Me sitting at a lovely makeup table
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
These photos were taken on a day when I was feeling very, very sick (which seems most evident in the last photo!), so this song seemed appropriate for the title of the post. Luckily I have recovered since then, and found them on my camera! The necklace is one that my dad bought me on Christmas eve, and it has the loveliest sparrow charm. This blouse was given to me by a wonderful girl who, before moving to California, gave away most of her clothing. I hadn't worn it that much until lately, but it's slowly becoming a favorite. Are any of your favorite clothes hand-me-downs?
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Tomorrow Never Knows is one of my favorite vintage shops in Toronto, and I have been drooling over these photographs from their 2010 lookbook for quite a while now. I'm in love with the little playlists that go up on their blog as well, which you should stop by and listen to whenever you're in the mood for something dreamy but hearty.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
A five in the morning talk has left me bewildered, and I'm not sure what to do next. I don't feel that anyone I've spoken with about it really gets what this glimpse of honesty means to me.
On a lighter note, I felt very studious going to meet with my professor in this outfit today, and was quite pleased to find that the fur on my jacket (pictured in a previous post) removes to become this simple trench.
Also, spaghetti squash and Freaks and Geeks is making my life right now.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
He built our walls on a small patch of grass that was sometimes flooded in the spring. Four beams rested on the earth, no cement rooting them. When we wanted, we became nomadic. Gathering fallen arms of trees, we had the option of prying them between dirt and wood and suspending our walls in air. Wrapping our fingers up and around the oak frame, our home in our palms, we would walk east, or sometimes west. The nicest wood he placed closest to the earth, and I never quite figured out why.
The walls housed a six inch pocket between the outer and inner layer. The insulation that we never got around to was instead grown over with weeds and bean sprouts. In the summer, you could see these sprouts leaping between the cracks in the roof. I sometimes climbed a ladder to harvest them. Once I imagined that as my nimble hand wrapped around the squirmy sprout, it shot up into the sky, propelling me beside the stars. The thunder of his falling tree dropped me flat to the roof before I could grab a handful of stardust.
In the next weeks he carved out our bed from the wound of the tree. I hung peonies from the south-west wall upside down, and once they dried, I collected their pedals in glass jars on which we had painted portraits of timid foxes. Each day we worked in silence, him keeping focus, as I tried to keep to myself. We spoke between the friction of sandpaper, through the scraping of a fine grain on timbre. Our walls became paper thin. Once nightfall came, we used real words, like “I’m sorry” and “let me go”. They couldn’t come close to the touch of sandpaper against my right hip.
The second summer, and into winter, I learned of his caring nature. He never left an animal or me for dead. His laboured hands nursed us to health, or tried to. When a wild hare or an injured deer finally lay their backs to the soil, he gathered their fur for our bed. And so we rest atop his burden of failure,
and my vision of his hopes.