holocene.

last night of the year.
seems like so much has happened, so many changes have occurred and somehow we're about to start the process all over again for a whole new year. \
curiously, i treat new year's eve like I should thanksgiving. my brain goes over the moments that changed the course of my lil life...and I cant help but stop and be thankful in celebrating another 12 months of absolute beautiful chaos.
I learned that my shopaholic tendencies can be controlled, starbucks withdrawals give me serious headaches, and that after all...iphones DO do it better.  :)

but on a more serious note. this year showed me that I have the strength to make amends with some, let go of others, and learn to adore a select few.

So this is to the ones I text everyday, the ones that will laugh hours on end with me while chilling with some hookah, the ones that love shopping as much as I do and even to the ones that dont...haha, to the one who comforted me when I was sick and trembling, to the one that calls to see if I want coffee everyday, to the lil ones who get me tired as hell but leave me with sore cheeks from smiling so much, to the ghosts who have returned, to the ones who put up with my love of crazy socks and alexander mcqueen, to the ones that have let me draw on them on a drunken night, and to the one who keeps me warm at night and holds my hand as we walk the street.

Thank you. You made this year beyond amazing.
Happy New Year.


Love,
Jen


VIII

my old friend, lust.

 c/o: topshop.com
i) Armadillo Eyelet Lace-up Boot- 160
ii) Adorn Leopard Pony Gold Heel- 110
iii) Vectra3 Studded Slippers- 56
iv) Krafty Cut Out Brogues- 110
v) Katrina Pointed Ballet Pumps- 84

I'M HAVING MAJOR SHOPPING WITHDRAWALS. I'm looking at every fashion blog and finding every possible sale online. While all the finds above are from one of my favorites; Topshop...I have an upcoming trip to San Francisco (a.k.a the vintage store sanctuary) and I absolutely could not be more excited by the idea of dragging the boyfriend to go digging for lost treasures ;]

Now if only an accounting final wasn't in the way....

Love,

Jen

VIII

P.s: If anyone is smart, they'll check this blog to see what I want for Christmas.

there's a voice singing loudly on the radio, just for you.

Rediscovered The Swell Season as an antidote for stressful finals.

Worked very well, I must say.

Love,

Jen

VIII

mesmerizing.

Confession: I have a growing fascination with iconic beauty that is deeply tortured and tormented.

I never found myself drawn to the pictures which are so commonly seen around hollywood in forms of postcards or dorm room posters… it all screamed glitzy glamour with a lack of depth. Even as I watched her films, I was more entranced by her charm than the actual storyline.

Slowly, I discovered that I was undeniably intrigued by the persona she developed to enchant the film industry and the audiences as well; she was like the California wildfires that struck the mountains, which everybody stopped to admire, only to realize much later that there was much damage hidden by a breathtaking facade. The deeper I go into researching, the more I find myself staring at pictures of her...just wondering how that luminous smile could hide so much unhappiness and how her eyes could glow while bathing in melancholy. Perhaps that’s what keeps me hooked, seeing such beauty unravel in the greatest of breakdowns. Marilyn became a dream, losing grip on her reality, sinking in disappointment and letting her true self go unwillingly.

what loss.

Love,
Jen



VIII

this is the why.

Alexander McQueen, Spring/Summer 1994

photographed by Sølve Sundsbø

for Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty

“The inspiration behind the hair came from Victorian times when prostitutes would sell theirs for kits of hair locks, which were bought by people to give to their lovers. I used it as my signature label with locks of hair in Perspex. In the early collections, it was my own hair.”

I miss him.

Love,
Jen


VIII

replay.

How To Make It In America.


Love,
Jen


VIII

VIII

extraordinary thing.

This feeling is intoxicating.
Its like waking up to the sunlight's light caress,
its the bass to a song that trembles your body,
its the sensation of rain finally falling on your fingertips as you walk to class,
its the realization that delicious caramel brulee lattes are back at starbucks,
its being enveloped by the beautiful chaos of an early Mcqueen show,
its placing a brush on a canvas to be completely absorbed by it,
its breathing in a cold breeze, while holding fire in your heart.
its all combined.

its happiness.

Love,
Jen


VIII

son mas que palabras.

Mi Diego:

Espejo de la noche.

 Tus ojos espadas verdes dentro de mi carne, ondas entre nuestras manos.

Todo tu en el espacio lleno de sonidos. En la sombra y en la luz.

Tu te llamaras Auxocromo el que capta el color. Yo Cromoforo- la que da el calor.

Tu eres todas las combinacionesde numeros. La vida.

Mi deseo es entender la linea, la forma, el movimiento.

Tu llenas y yo recibo. Tu palabra recorre todo el espacios y llega a mis celulas

 que son astros y va a las tuyas que son mi luz.

-Frida 

...Reading Frida's love letters convinces me that our era lacks the passion and devotion that was found then. We dont take the time to write, we dont use ink to express the fever felt in our hearts, we dont even believe that a person can belong to us and form a lifeling union.

we stand as realists or undercover pessimists. 

perhaps this is progress...

or perhaps we have descended into a dark spiral of bitterness.

Love, 

Jen

VIII  

inspired.

y con un poco de color terminamos. o empezamos.

Love,
Jen


VIII

We are the music makers. And the dreamers of the dreams.

Marc by marc Jacobs silk shorts.
H&M striped top.
Steve Madden taupe suede platform boots.
Vamp Chanel lipstick.
Freshly cut bangs.

Yea. It's a good day.


Love,
Jen


VIII

'cause she's a crueller mistress.

Im apologizing in advance to my roommates for the overload of Florence you will have starting now....if there is such a thing. I cannot express how much each video strongly supports my need to go shopping with this woman. She's absolutely mesmerizing.   

While "What the water gave me" is my favorite of the two songs for the moment, "Shake it off" is undeniably visually stunning...maybe due to the fact that the wardrobe screams Tom Ford, teasing tattoo glimpses are present, and gypsy tendencies among high society bring a fulfilling sense to the song. 

I need say no more.

Love,

Jen

VIII

therapy.

I need some Doc Martens.

Any people willing to contribute to this special, life changing cause, let me know asap.

My fall wardrobe will appreciate it significantly.

Many thanks.

Love,

Jen

VIII

pearls.

Evelyn Mchale, Robert Wiles, 1947

At first glance, the shot above is beautiful.

Yet, then the eye adjusts increasingly, letting details come alive and comprehended. What could have been mistaken for glimmers of a liquid metal material are finally seen in their true form; shattered glass on a dented car. Her pose is no pose at all, just what gravity decided to leave her body as once it was done with it. She holds tight to her pearls as a sign of everything she wanted, but didnt feel she rightly deserved. At 23, Evelyn McHale leapt off the Empire State Building to fall 1050 feet to the ground...and for what?  

Did it change her family? Was a valuable lesson learned?

Or was she to be a muse all along? The center of an art student's inspiration, a symbol of fragility at its best, or even a tribute to a death that achieved beauty beyond its average measure...

At first, the shot is beautiful. Yet, with a second take it becomes even more so.

Evelyn. I hope you found it.

Love,

Jen

VIII 

Blur your eyes, watch the streetlights become hundreds of ghosts going home.

World, stop spinning... for I cannot hold on any longer.

Let me exist without you.

Let me free.

Can I exist without you? Can I float holding hands with cosmic fires in the depths of the above?

 Can I lie in the fields of light without worries and doubts?

No, no I cannot.

So world stop spinning...

or I might just have to adjust.

Love,

Jen

VIII

lift a rock and i am there. split a piece of wood and you will find me.

Perhaps he is within us. Or maybe we learn to find him within ourselves in times of true strength...we learn to adjust and deal with the obstacles that confront us because we finally believe we can. Our souls experience a "divine" power drive it through farther and farther away towards a side led by enlightenment.
At times Ive doubted whether ive ever felt true faith inhabit my heart; I know I have certainly envied those who have had their lives genuinely led by it. But then again, envy cannot go hand in hand with faith, perhaps that has been one of many mistakes.
Perhaps...it is that "perhaps" has more power than you believe you give it. It can take over and quite simply, just limit your abilities for the fear that embodies you is all that the world can see. Its all YOU can see..thus, its all He sees at the moment. Until you say "perhaps" no more..He wont see the potential. You wont see it.

I'd like to take hold of a star now. I'd like to let the fire burn the palm of my hand with its intensity, while being certain that there is no way I will ever release it.

Clams Casino is my new addiction. Perfect for writing, painting, walking, thinking, breathing...think u guys get my point. haha ;]



Love,
Jen


VIII

its 10:18.

"You were just a boy on a bed in a room, like a kaleidoscope is a tube full of bits of broken glass. But the way I saw you was pieces refracting the light, shifting into an infinite universe of flowers and rainbows and insects and planets, magical dividing cells, pictures no one else knew."

Love,

Jen

VIII

cosmic.

images worth lingering on.

The woman truly is a fearsome creature to behold.

That opinion might be a lil biased....but its not any less true.

I couldnt help but admire a few editorial shots in Vogue's september issue as well.

I was surprised to find myself astonished by the Fendi's fall/winter 11 campaign, since Ive never been too much fan of the Italian high fashion house.

Yet, most likely due to Karl Lagerfeld's crucial role as photographer, it managed to be my favorite spread in this edition.

Its a beautiful portrayal of a woman who has a family, but doesnt stop being a muse just because of it....she continues to captivate and more importantly bewitch.

;)

Love,
Jen



VIII

fire remains.

I believe I have been singing this song for about four to five days straight.
Moloko's voice is so hypnotizing.
..and I can relate to her attempt to hide from truth, however foolish it might be.

Love,

Jen

VIII

Flashing red light means go.

On days like today, a canvas becomes a pressure suit. A savior. It listens. It protects. It lets me be whoever I am at that exact moment or it can let me be whoever I would like to be instead. The canvas doesnt complain, judge, or fester. Its a door to another place, and whatever I make of it, is what is. My paintbrush becomes a key. And there I am, opening doors into worlds raw with emotion.

I have a theory. I believe disappoinment, angst, sadness, and anger always lead to some of the best works of an aspiring artist. That is sincerely difficult to place out there as I dont normally refer to myself by such a title...but, art is a large part of what drives me. And I aspire to own an artform, make it my own, and not be consumed by its intensity. My progress so far has led me to my previously stated theory.Those moments in a dim room, where the cold is only fought by the warmth of nicotine and caffeine unleash a torment that can often result in a masterpiece. New ideas seem stronger, sturdier and significantly more powerful than those which emerge in the haze of happiness.
I was in a dark place today. Doubts, questions and the exhaustion that resulted from a lack of answers were dominant in my solitude.  After hours of looking over details that were a maze to be easily lost in...I gave in to the only thing I knew was in my control at the moment. Through charcoal and led, little pieces of myself were regained. Every part was painful, making the process far from simple. Yet, by the time I reached for my paintbrush, I noticed my aching has subdued, a fondness for color had replaced it. The canvas was my pressure suit.

It stands in front of me now, waiting. Whether a need to run to it be a result of happiness or anger; it will always be waiting. I tend to forget that at times.

Then a day like today comes along.

Love,

Jen

VIII

in hopes of a better morning.

summer night with coffee brought me this.

She had seven keys on her right set of ribs. It was the first time he had laid eyes upon them. The questions started rushing through his head. He knew there werent conventional responses waiting to be delivered;the seven didnt stand as a representation of the seven deadly sins a dark society upheld so well, nor did it stand for seven names of loved ones who she deeply cherished...seven wasnt even a superficial lucky number. There was much more to it.

And he wasnt just giving her more credit due to the fact that she lay naked in front of him now.

He had come to find that there was an inspiring story behind every decision which she took. These six elaborately designed keys accompnied by the single black silhouette of one to make seven were the reason she woke up every morning. They came together to explain what was driving her.This was the why...this was why she held a paintbrush as a profession, this was why she adored walking, this was why she loved wearing that gold tree necklace. Do not be mistaken, these were never problems to solve, merely curiousities to fulfill. These keys had somehow given him an entirely new reason to love her desperately.
It was 2:22. He usually made a wish by this time; catching time with repeated numbers was a good luck charm, a wish could not be wasted. For months on end, he would wish for the same thing until he actually would feel closer to getting it; at times the wish would simply come true... It always had a funny way of working out. Everything that had occurred tonight was a wish of his...The moment she had the courage to remove her slip, the need she had to break down barriers on that bed, the way he could linger upon the curvature of her figure as the moonlight illuminated it. It worked. And then there were the seven keys on her ribs which had kept him awake even after she had surrendered to the dawn. Seven keys made him feel seven steps closer to the complicated nature which emcompassed her being and which he adored in the simplest, most basic of ways.

It was 5:55. He knew he needed to come up with a new wish, but he couldnt be bothered to do so now. Oddly enough, he felt a strong sense of relief in not wanting to wish for anything else; he had been liberated from his own strange tendencies. Even if there was no guarantee that it would be this way for good, he continued to bask in the happiness he felt. As if his thoughts had woken her, she turned over suddenly, stretched and smiled without opening her eyes. He kissed her forehead, breathed her in.
He was bound to her and her seven keys in the most peculiar way.

He didn't mind.




Love,
Jen


VIII

too much time has passed.

Turns out my writing time on Blogger was significantly cut down by the death of my previous laptop.

Regardless, ill have a chance to share new thoughts and observations of this adventurous summer which has been full of rewarding experiences. But, for now....ill just leave any readers with a lil obsession of mine.

For years, I have loved this song, but never quite came around to seaching for its title or artist...which seems slightly ridiculous for Thom Yorke's haunting voice would now be easily recognized. I first heard it in Baz Luhrman's Romeo and Juliet, where every beat of the song was accompanied by sweat, tears, and entrancing glances.

Talk Show Host by Radiohead. Listen to it.
.

You want me? Well fucking come and find me.
I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches.

looking for shoes again.

So my recent quest for sandals has been quite extensive. But no luck yet...as always, my taste refers me to all the splurges and I find myself critically judging the affordable ones.

However, while looking on Solestruck (Amazing site for those of you who like ur footwear to be a bit bolder <3) I came across an amazing pair of combat boots from See by Chloe. Not too long ago, I broke the zipper on my adored brown pair from forever 21...they were a bargain, so Im surprised they lasted as long as they did. These See boots have a good dose of spring in them...the green and brown combo reminds me of fierce Alexander McQueen heeled lace ups. So now on to save 375 big ones. haha.

 BTW <3Today was the official opening day for the McQueen "Savage Beauty" exhibition at The Met. I wished all day I could suddenly be in New York....it strangely didnt happen. Good thing I have til July.


Love,
Jen


VIII

imperfections led to perfection.

Caravaggio. One of the rebellious artists of Baroque art in Rome who created some of the most breathtaking masterpieces of the time is often hidden in the shadows of more famous geniuses like Michelangelo. An aggresive character, it's quite easy to see how Caravaggio chose to portray a more naturalistic perspective in his paintings. While the patrons of his commissions were not always pleased with his realistic depictions of holy figures, claiming them to be disrespectful, his mastery of technique could not be denied. This can be seen in those who chose to buy his rejected paintings despite the controversy.
The following pictures are the result of a commission for the Contrarelli chapel of St. Luigi del Francesi in Rome. A three-piece project, Caravaggio was to depict the life of St.Matthew; from his calling to martyrdom. While the entire altar was unbelievably beautiful, my favorite was the centerpiece which was unfortunately rejected by the church. There were two versions of the piece which was to show the illiterate St.Matthew receiving the aid of an angel to write the gospel.

 Original version rejected by the church in 1600. (above)

Revised Version by Caravaggio (1600)

The first version shows an elderly saint in tattered robes whose hand is being directly guided by the angel in order to write. His feet are noticeably dirty, rough and it can even be said that he takes the full appearance of a farmer. Yet, there can be an unmistakable feeling of tenderness and delicate patience found in the bond formed between the martyr and the angel. St Matthew appears to the viewer, as a saint trusted wit the task of the gospel, but first and foremost as an ordinary man who has been called upon by the Lord himself. Perhaps it is this realistic nature that makes the entire piece so beautiful in its entirety...suddenly the viewer believes that such a saint could exist and that his capabilities were trusted for a powerful reason, or several at that.
The revised version shows the saint in vividly clored robes, well pressed and royally draped. The angel approaches him from above as to illuminate his better judgement, but does not come close to the saint's hand; St.Matthew writes the gospel by himself. He looks stronger and placed in a more dignified stance, looking more "presentable", following the expected image of a saint according to the church.

While the revised version that hangs in the Contrarelli chapel is still a grand mark of Caravaggio's trayectory, the imperfect version which is now lost is one of the most amazing paintings I have ever studied.
It inspires faith within me. A rare thing.



Love,
Jen


VIII