Stan Brakhage's The Stars are Beautiful, part one.

And part two.

Chosen excerpts:

The sky is altogether not composed of such great distances as we suppose. In truth, it is an old fire. The stars are sparks. The Sun a burning coal.

The black of the sky at night is ashes in a bubbling drop of water. This is the same with us—i.e., as the universe burns, so do we. Our heads contain water very much like the sky holds moons. The burning in us keeps the water in our heads boiling and sputtering.

The sky is the dead, decaying body of God. The stars are glittering maggots.

The sky is the solid state of time. The Sun? Its emergence. The Moon, the tube it falls into. The stars are the fragments that never move on.

Everything is happening at once, but the sky is a clock, and makes things look like they are happening one at a time.

I'm going to update this more often now, I've made a point to do so. I will follow routine at first until all is no longer ritualistic and simply becomes the norm. I've fallen out of the loop with many things and most of them I wish to revive; this here is one of them. I will have a dissimilar approach this time around, though. I'd rather not limit myself to one aspect of my interests and let all of them reflect the character of this blog.

So ahem, hello again, if anyone is still out there.




Unknown times two, Sally Mann, an untitled diptych (self-portrait).


Both of these albums have been on repeat recently.
Ambient noise band Loveliescrushing's "Ghosts that Swirl" from Xuvetyn.
German krautrock band Can's "Halleluwah" from Tago Mago.

This lost video that I discovered in the abyss of my hard drive is from March 5th, 2010. Song that is playing is Alarm Call by Björk. Anything with sequins on it is from H&M, the rest is thrifted, that Batman necklace (rip) was made from a loose chain and a mask from a costume shop.

Lastly, some writing from earlier today.

The night takes me by the wrist and does not release me until oblivion sets in. I wander into the ice fog, my eyes become iridescent in the mist, and suddenly I cling to consciousness. I am a newborn attached to my mother’s breast as hunger strikes. A soldier clutches the edge of the cliff, as the sea below threatens to consume him, a comatose state threatens to consume me. I will not be forced into submission; I will tear the night from its seams until light breaks and the morning dew sets on my skin. Now you are insentient, I hear. A persistent vegetative state.

The light has appeared. I feel as if I am transcending, my corporeal being now a figment of the past, which has now faded into nothing. The mind cannot keep the past alive - the present’s arrival means each passing moment has suddenly found its demise.

Yesterday is dead, tomorrow is not yet born. Though it does not matter; I now exist in a state where there is no notion of tangibility, nor of time. The body is a disposable shell made of matter that eventually decays into dust. The air lifts us up and we become the ice fog that films over the living’s scintillating eyes.

Two points I will acknowledge in this seemingly quick post.

1) The Case of the Grinning Cat meets today's outfit

Everything is thrifted and vintage except for the rib shirt which is from shopwithasianstereotypes and the socks which are mismatched (deliberately) from H&M.

and 2) I dye my hair blonde tomorrow!!! Well, that's the first part, then I'm going to go pink, blue or fire truck red (with a hint of pink)... my roomate goes to school at Aveda and said she could do the blonde for free, so I was in no shape to pass up the chance.

I'm bringing in this picture from Proenza S/S 2010 because it's just about the same shade I want. The last time I was a blonde I was thirteen and it was nowhere near this white. I'm ecstatic right now but I'll probably get a bit shaky during. I'll post pictures as soon as I cannn

(via style.com)

So etcetera etcetera I apologize for the absence, but my reading week just passed (which I spent working both a job and on assignments) and the week before that was a bit busy as well. So not only have I been absent from the blog but I've been pretty behind on all of the fashion weeks as a result. When I say behind I mean so far back I've lost the pack (just finished all of NY and about to start London). So tomorrow I'm going to sit in my school's computer lab and catch up because guess what? PARIS IS STARTING TOMORROW SAY WHUUUT. I'm going to do review posts eventually as well (also I couldn't decide which to do so I requested my Tumblr bbs to suggest some - so far we've got Prada, Missoni, D&G and Marc Jacobs) because I need to brush up on my writing skills (even though I have a 1200 word research essay due on Monday which I should be working on instead). Anywho this is what I wore today (the red skirt irritated me on the way to school so I took it off after only a bit of wear, unfortunately. Gotta remember skin on zipper contact isn't comfortable)

Moreover, what possessed me to make this face? I need to plan facial expressions pre-taking pictures of outfits.

I DO WHAT I WANT. No but actually, this expression needs to get off of my face.

Pale beige cardigan on backwards, H&M. Detailed beige tee and red skirt, vintage. Cream skirt, thrifted. Tights from eBay.

Also, remember the book Radical Fashion I was talking about? It's basically a compilation of essays on what the book describes as 'radical' designers, which is a sentiment I share. So far I've only managed to read the first three essays (I believe there are about five or six?) and the research that has been put into them is astounding. Although the two latter essays I read were concerning facts about the past and present of certain designer's work (for example, the second essay was about Jean Paul Gaultier and Azzedine Alaia's work in couture and the third regarded Yohji, Rei, Issey Miyake and to an extent Junya Watanabe, as they brought to Paris a sense of perfection to what the western considered a degradation of beauty; imperfect) which I already was aware of, the first essay didn't concern so much the designer as it did the role that the Futurist movement played for each designer, both consciously or without conscious influence at all.

The essay itself is entitled 'Looking Forward, Historical Futurism' and it's written in an articulate, quite fluent manner by Judith Clark. I'm not going to delve too deep into discussion of the essay itself because it'll basically lead to a summary from me and I'd rather you guys read it yourselves (don't tl;dr this you guys! It's intriguing I swears). Basically the Futurists were turning their back on timeless, elegant, goddess-like clothing that of course was a radical thing to do.

It's online, you can read it here. But I'm going to post some excerpts I found interesting nevertheless.

The tradition of the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the minds of the living. And, just when they appear to be engaged in the revolutionary transformation of themselves...in the creation of something that does not yet exist, precisely in such epochs of revolutionary crisis they timidly conjure up the spirits of the past to help them; they borrow their names, slogans and costumes so as to stage the new world-historical scene in this venerable disguise and borrowed language... In the same the beginner who has learned a new language always retranslates it into his mother tongue: he can only be said to have appropriated the spirit of the new language and to express himself in it freely when he can manipulate it without reference to the old, and when he forgets his original language while using the new one.

Futurist clothing had to be aggressive and dynamic (through the use of triangles, spirals, cones, that 'inspire love of danger, speed, hatred of peace and immobility'). It has to be asymmetrical as opposed to classically harmonious (he specifies examples—perhaps a jacket with one sleeve longer than the other or one rounded lapel and the other square.) It had to be agile, simple (easy to put on and remove) and hygienic (for war marches). It had to be joyful and hence its colours had to be vivid (here Balla uses the emphasis typical of Futurist manifestos to describe colour 'Reeeeeeeeeeeds, Viiiiooooooleeeets, greeeeeeens') and fluorescent (an early example of its application to textiles used for everyday dress). It had, vitally, to be reactive, achievable, with modificanti (fabric badges), applied to an outfit both to reflect the wearer's mood and to enhance its impact, using 'war-hungry, decisive' adjectives never before applied to dress. Finally, it had to be disposable, not durable, to ensure fast renewal.

(ironically Balla and I seem to have the same method of emphasis ^^)

Futurists enjoying daring, novelty, originality, even absurdity in its own right, highlighting the obviously associated behavioural dimension of dress. For Futurists both wearer and dress were active.

But I think what mainly piqued my interest in Futurism integrated with fashion is how Futurists wanted to translate paintings which completely abstracted the human form into clothing. For an example, take Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending A Staircase No. 2. I'm not talking prints, structure or color palette; I'm talking the complete translation of bodily form and posture. That is definitely what I would call radical.

Finally, there were pictures in the latter of the book of collections, advertisements, exhibitions, artwork, you name it, by the designers. I'll start with Gaultier and Alaia, the first of the two essays with focus on designers, then end it with my favourites; Kawakubo, Miyake, Yamamoto and Watanabe. :3 (I'll post the Margiela/Chalayan/McQueen/Westwood ones when I get to the essays)

Azzedine Alaia:

left: A/W 2000-01 right: A/W 1979

Jean Paul Gaultier:

both from Haute Couture S/S 2000

Comme des Garcons:



Issey Miyake:

A-POC 1999 (from Issey Miyake Making Things, ACE Gallery, New York, Nov 1999) (I would throw fluffy animals from cliffs to go back and see this, ngl)

l: A-POC Knit 2000 r: Jeux de Tissu performance by Yayoi Kusuma on A-POC King and Queen 2000

A-POC 2001

Junya Watanabe:

Yohji Yamamoto:

l: A/W 1986-87 r: A/W 1995-96

l: S/S 1997 r: S/S 1998

l: A/W 1995-96 r: S/S 1999

Hanna Hedman or the Jewelry God

I'm going to make this a quick post because I'm so tired and rambling won't help, but I felt the urge to post about Hanna Hedman's work. I was (and still am to be frankly honest) this heap of naivete when it comes to jewelry since I barely own any pieces and when I do I somehow get around to losing them. Thus I gave up. Ever since I heard about the jewelry crafting course my school is offering however I've grown more intrigued, but from seeing it more as an art. For example, there is a student work of a sculpted human thumb on the end of a necklace that I read about recently. It's concept is linked back to childish attachment, and as a fan of conceptual art I was so totally for this piece of jewelry. The only thing was that it was not aesthetically appealing. When linking it to fashion, aesthetics is a necessity, otherwise the contrast is inexistent. This is where Hanna's work comes in; she seems to have encountered, in obvious succession, that bridge between both the fashion and the art world when it comes to jewelry.

Born in Stockholm (those Swedes man, I'm telling yah), Hanna Hedman creates these beyond massive pieces that hang heavily around the model's neck. Although these individuals may appear to seem at ease, the chains are made of basic metallic compounds, such as silver, bronze, and copper; compounds that are known to carry with them a sturdy amount of weight, especially when added together. However, the models relaxed stances coincide with the beauty of the formal elements; intricate designs evoking ethereal impressions. 

Hedman apparently cites "human weakness and underlying defense mechanisms" as an inspiration, and the subjective matter also coincides with what we see - this big "shu-shunk" collection of jewelry, made of what typically sculptures or other technological artworks are made of. Here, she brings together fashion and art by bringing aesthetic appeal in what we consider a mechanical piece that is often shunned any beholder's eye. I mean, who thinks a big metal slab of copper is gorgeous? Not a lot of people. Yet her jewelry makes us think differently. It is the shape and form of what she has created that makes us contradict the conventions of beauty. She's actually one of the main reasons I want to go and drown myself in a tub full of jewelry and jewelry only.

This website is amazing if you want to view her work almost entirely, though I'd suggest googling some of her work - there are some obscenely large photos of her works where you can see the intricacies extremely well. And look! Even birdnest Gaga applauds this bitch. Now you know she's legit.

...and there goes my promise for a quick post.

(Hedman model photo via laufstag)

Hi guys! I wore this today to shop and go to my Times Based Media class, which focuses on artworks in relation to time - basically video art, installations, internet art, etc. I had to present this in class today for a critique. You can interpret it yourself.

Also, we watched Stan Brakhage videos several weeks prior which led me to a collection of his stuff. He's definitely a new favourite. This is his film Rage Net, which was the video of the bunch that we viewed that left the biggest impression on me. Basically the colours come from filling in scratched emulsion of the film. (The quality of this film is SHIT by the way. Go rent the Criterion Collection DVD with most of his pivotal works on it if you want to see it much clearer)

Off to eat cake and watch Dazed and Confused now. Bye!

Leather jacket, Forever 21. Shirt, H&M. Sequin dress as a skirt, H&M. Floral tights, H&M.

draculahead

I don't think I posted this here before, but this is a video I made last summer to Metric's 'Rock Me Now' after watching several films directed by Grant Gee and David Lynch and music videos inspired by the latter. I considered going into something cinematography related but ended up going to school for general fine arts instead. Films are one of my passions though - I'm currently trying to watch every movie on the Criterion Collection list. The last one I saw was Peeping Tom. Probably the most eccentric film I've ever seen. Eccentric is putting it nicely. It's like calling Anna Piaggi completely normal. You think that shit's going to make sense? Nuh uh.



Speaking of weird films, I saw flyers for this all around Toronto and I am so there it's not even funny. 7pm Monday bitches. But honestly how amazing is this combination? The first time I saw it on a street pole punctured by staples I almost wept. I literally took the flyer for it down and hung it up in my room. Currently staring at it as I type. (/fan girl rant) Oh and I'll add in a clip of the film to the song 'Idioteque' too. Makes zee heart swell, no? (channelling my inner french woman). Oh god speaking of, I successfully convinced many, many people I was an exchange student from England last night after speaking in a british accent for no less than twenty five minutes. Apparently intoxication will do that to you. BUT THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT, back to stereo face (radio head, eh eh?)





I bought Kid A on vinyl yesterday too. Best 31.95 I've ever spent. (fan girl rant ends now i swurr) Also staring at that as I type. But it's currently nestled on my pillow so I can fall asleep cradling it in my arms like a child does to a stuffed animal.

Too much?

G-g-g-g-Gus

This is how I spent today. Lying in bed in an oversized shirt procrastinating over the internet and reading Freud. Tediousness sort of lingered in the air today and I was too tired to get up and go thrifting as per the plan. Don't put pressure on me, h'okay? (insert dejected face emoticon). I was so sick of writing essays today I think I almost threw up entire sentences at a time. Vowels kept getting stuck in between my teeth, I was spitting out consonants like I was chewing tobacco.

On a heavier note, did anyone see Lost tonight? I know, right? I felt like those two flamboyant males in the David Blaine parody video ("WHAT THE EFF").......seriously.

Oh and it's my birthday tomorrow? Though I'm not excited at all, oddly. Usually I'm like a jack in a box the day before and when the clock hits twelve I'm like Cinderella but with more spunk and no charm. And no evil stepmother. Or stepsisters. And my dad isn't dead. And I'm not a slave in my own house.

I can talk to animals though.

silence is perfect

My power went out tonight. I felt as if I was blind, reaching out for things to realize where I was. I could open and close my eyes and there would be no difference.

Everything was silent. The rain tapping on the window, inviting me outside. I went for a walk, and I arrived home, rain water soaking the dryness out of my clothing. I read by candlelight, and when I craved darkness I simply exhaled. Now the electricity has returned, as has the sound of televisions echoing, reverberating off the walls and swimming in the air into the byzantine conduit and into my brain. 

Tired of reading, I decided to film the candle in negative light to Thom Yorke's "A Rat's Nest". Haunting, but I like it.

Now I'm watching Romeo + Juliet. I love how it is set in modern day but uses the beautiful Shakespearean language that ceases to exist in today's conversations. How I wish it did. It is so completely lovely. On a side note, Leonardo DiCaprio is perfect. Even mid-murderous rage.

"And when I shall die, take him and cut him up in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will fall in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun."

Mary Ellen Mark.



Her pictures are of underlying truth, the existence we cease to accept. Her pictures don't tarnish reality, but in fact show it to us right in front of our eyes. Her pictures are heartbreaking and captivating... you can't seem to look away, but it is in that instance of the person's inability to turn away that we realize what life and our world truly is.

we hope that you choke

i am feeling like fucking shit again. i want to be chris mccandless. i don't even care if i die in the process- i just want to live. i want to get out of this shitty little town and go LIVE MY LIFE. i am sorry about the lack of fashion, but picasso and his "weeping woman"  means so much more to me than clothes right now.....

but what about the fashion?

this is a brief and personal prologue, but i need to spit this out. i'm sick of acting like someone, something i am not. i think this blog post reflects change and reality. i feel like i've been wearing this mask for years and i can finally take it off.

i've been fascinated with the colour white lately.
at the moment, i stare into the faces of six white roses. in two weeks a fresh pot, giving the room a godly aroma.
i wish i could walk outside and say the same, but then i turn to my left and watch the planes take off,one by one, into never ending blue. sometimes i wish i could fly with the metal that suspends by force, the missiles of black, the roars of the lions. i would rise to the windows and whisper"let me in"and they would, and their eyes would swell with lies and truths, and they wouldn't know what to believe anymore.
like superman i'd take them away with the speed of light, and we'd see our lives flash before our eyes, and within a minute we would land and they thanked me, because now they knew the truth, and the truth never lies.

my father bought biographies of famous artists and i'm eating them up like poundcakes, savoring every little bit of information i read. i've been most recently reading about Salvador Dali, and i love love love his portrait of Mae West, titled the obvious "face of Mae West". there is just something so odd but sexy about it. i don't know if i should be creeped out or turned on.




i haven't taken any pictures of my outfits recently, out of sheer laziness. i did take a picture of one when i came home one night, but i was still drunk i think and the flash was being a slut. the belt is from the goodwill, as always, and i simply adore it, reminds me of an eccentric Indian tribe.

so yeah. cool.