Nov 24, 2013
Nov 17, 2013
Sitting at a café, hair tucked under sweater, observing, waiting for things to change. Wearing the same clothes, your uniform of sorts, you will them to and then wonder why. People rush past, their energy falls on numbness, boring into eyelids half open. Absorbed, you imagine painting without really knowing how, running down to the riptide and being taken away to the dark side. To appease the senses you think up notes of Elderberry, Peach and Plum; Peony, Violet and Leather; Rum, Labdanum, Vanilla, Sandalwood and Moss. A state of lovely melancholic nothing, this is November.
Lucien Smith, Coffee and Cigarettes Table for Two
Bast magazine, Eva L by Gitte Post
Vance Joy, Riptide
Nov 10, 2013
Rika magazine, Kelsey Van Mook by Annemarieke Van Drimmelen