Jack ii.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

jack.
 favorite boy in my favorite sweater
magenta vintage angora,
a fun little thing.  


Now & Then

Saturday, September 10, 2016

photo by purple

A few images that stole my heart this week:

1. Slightly overwhelmed by all the magic in this photo: Adwoa Aboah and her green feather sandals, Hôtel de la Païva, petite red florals, and MIU MIU. 

2. A visit to MoAD's bookstore after work (a block from SFMOMA, why it took me this long to visit is a wonder), where I found, devoured, and then very nearly purchased John Paul Goude's book. It's filled with his collage works, storyboards, illustrations, photographs and art direction, with icons like Grace Jones, and it's ravishing. And I can't stop thinking about it...

3. Which brings me to the Grace Jones and Dandy Lion exhibit at MoAD. I've visited twice in the last few days- once with Jack and once by myself. It's a small but really powerful two exhibits that between me and Jack, resulted in at least a hundred collective oh my gods, plus another few in my head alone the next day. All while scribbling down statements in our notebooks like "a dandy doesn't grow, he evolves." and "dandy- just returned from Venus" (!!) In the confidence Grace exudes, her androgyny and her fearless, boundary-pushing interpretation of music and style, she continues to be an icon- a trailblazer, inspiration, and reference point for countless others after her. These shots of Grace Jones by Andy Warhol are a few of my favorites from his book of polaroids (discovered on lunch break at my own museum store), a heavy collection of his factory days well worth the sore arms required to hold the book up. 









Sunset blvd

Thursday, September 1, 2016


Watching the sun go down in LA fixes everything inside, if only for a few golden seconds. 

one weekend: 
floral blouses, floral couches, 12 hours in a cemetery,
are you the last guest or the first guest at a 24 hour diner? 
Stopping outside the Roosevelt hotel at the split second the
 pink neon lights switched off like a pretty dictator of a new day,  
walking down Sunset Blvd drowning in sleepiness, 
Jim Morrison humming in my ears, 
"no eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn"

this kind of ephemeral exists only here.





 

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