Just some of my art.
“Hahahhaa: imagine a musical quintet of just rainsticks!”
This photo was taken mere moments after I realized the futility of existence, and came to accept that all we have in life is a long strand of twinkle lights on which the lights are happiness and the wire is pure joy. Or wait, maybe the wire is happiness and the lights are pure joy. Or one is ecstasy? Regardless, essay forthcoming, but to expand a little here, life is paint-by-numbers, and I am only on number three. Is that how paint-by-numbers works? I couldn’t say. All of my paintings are After Kazimir Malevich (e.g., in the style of). Here’s a recent work of mine, titled Blog on Blog:
God, I love a good Kazimir Malevich joke. So did Kazimir Malevich, I hear. For those of you following along at home, Malevich created the Suprematist movement, which is related to cult streetwear brand Supreme, if I’m making things up.
Back to fashion, on which I am an expert: in the next photo, I am going to turn towards the camera, and something you really weren’t expecting is going to be revealed. Outfit, in the case of the skirt that you include…
…you ARE covered in 3-D accordion pleat-waves! (Outfit cheers, elated at confirmation of 3-D accordion pleat-waves.)
To show the folks at home what we talk about when we talk about 3-D accordion pleat-waves, I’m about to do something daring, something I never do, something that confirms even more for me the sheer randomness and amorphous variety of life—and that something is put my hand in my pocket:
3-D accordion pleat-waves! Wow.* WowWwwwWwW!*
I think, also, I’m smiling in that last photo, but I can’t be sure, because I took the photo upside-down.
Thank you as always for joining me. I know better than anyone that when you read this blog I am cornering you with many weird and wild ideas and forcing you to listen, as if I am Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner and you are just trying to get along to your friend’s wedding. But I guarantee that if you stick with me, you’ll wake up tomorrow just like Wedding-Guest: a sadder and a wiser man.
*World of Wines, duh.
Accordion skirt by Martin Lamothe, a wonderful Spanish haus of fashionz headed by designer Elena Martin, who delights in sculpting fabric into sophisticated volumetric oddities.
Basler Jacket. My mother bought this in Switzerland and I stole it as a cool Barbour alternative. I guess you can’t buy it in America.<—-probably the meanest thing you could say to a girl at an Upper East Side all-female high school. There’s a sort of similar one online but it’s in a color so unimaginably horrible that it looks like the seedy underbelly of Art Basel Miami incarnate.
Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. You know, I bought these to wear to work, but they are the world’s most comfortable shoes, and I enjoy putting them on during the weekend and pretending I’m as pretty as my mother who is a total princess. Side note: she and my father won the 1972 award for highest Beauty to Beast ratio, I think.
Chloe purse. This bag has been with me through thick and thin. My parents thought I needed it for job interviews two years ago (?!, but maybe you sort of see where I get it now), and I have had it ever since. I hate it-bags and famous-shaped bags and bags with a big name on them—bags that say, “HELLO, I COULD AFFORD IT.” In fact, I rarely like a bag, and ones I like are usually covered in fur or shaped like a pig or Karl Lagerfeld. But there is nothing funny about this bag, Mister, and it’s refreshing for me to have a moment of aesthetic sincerity. And though it hails from the house of Chloe, it has a quiet sort of shape that means even Fashionologists sometimes inquire as to its provenance.
stars, stars, starrrrs
