Sometimes I like to be parked for the weekend. It’s a glorious thing to be able to be at home, putter about, have friends come over to grace your space as opposed to venturing out into what sometimes seems to be waves of mass discontent. It’s all about balance, for me at least; balance, and going with the flow of well, me. -tM
On Friday’s even my long journeyed public transit commute doesn’t feel so bad. With the promise of the weekend drawing closer, that Friday feeling is one of joy unlike any other day. There is a lightness of being, an extra bounce in my step, a disco ball of magical light bouncing off of every face I see, and every surface I touch. I even think I am a bit nicer on Friday’s. It’s magical through and through. I have said it before, and I will say it again, “Friday, I’m in Love with You.” -tM
I am many things, but one thing I am not is someone who goes back to any past relationship, be it friendship, lover, or casual fling. You see, when I am done, I am done.
There is no friendship after a love affair, no knocking on my door after a friendship has been squashed, no “hey, I am here to see what’s up again” after a casual tryst.
This isn’t about holding grudges or being stubborn, nor is it about not understanding why things didn’t work out. It is quite the opposite, it is about having understood why things didn’t work out, about learning the lessons, doing the work required to heal, and then finally moving on.
Yes, people change, but by the time my relationships are over, people have gotten a second chance, and sometimes even a third. The way I see it is we had our time, we parted for reasons known to both of us, and now we move forward separately. Life is too short to repeat anything, especially patterns.
So you see, it all comes full circle: when I am done, I am done, nothing more, nothing less. -tM
“The Dancer premiered in 1881 at the Sixth Impressionist Exhibition in Paris, where it spurred condemnation for its “low” realism that many commentors considered vulgar. She stood as an indecently naturalistic portrayal of a working-class dancer, linked to nebulous ideas of vice, degeneracy, and corruption.”
She originally came to be known as the “Unloved Dancer.”
The world was appalled by her realism. It was the first modern attempt at a realistic sculpture. But the original unloved, wigged, and slippered Dancer no longer exists. The 1881 version was made entirely out of wax, which began to darken. It was later replaced with a simplified revised version also made of wax (as no one wanted to buy the original) Today, there are 30 of these bronze cast dancers around the world that were some what born out of Degas’ original. Plaster mould’s were made after Degas’ death in 1921 of a less detailed version of the unsellable original that Degas had later created. Degas’ revised wax rendition currently resides in the National Gallery in Washington, DC.
Now cloned, and idealized, the new version has been whole heartedly accepted by the masses, yet I still have a longing to be witness to the original. It just goes to show you how uninterested we as humans are in having realism find its way into our art, and how uncomfortable it is when it does, as it interferes with our ability to escape reality. -tM
I have always cared too much, you name it, I cared and connected to it. The days of moving through life with my emotions tugging at my every turn left me exhausted to say the least.
I have always wanted to “not care,” translation: I didn’t want to feel so deeply. So in summation, I am finally getting to this point in my life, the not caring point, and it feels liberating to not have your emotions run your life.
I still care, but I don’t emotionally connect at that deep level anymore and I LOVE IT! Don’t get me wrong, there are still things that stay with me longer then they should, (letting go, and caring, can be synonymous), but that separation between self and others is wonderful. It leaves so much more space for connecting to myself, to the world, and to the moment. I can listen, empathize, comfort, and be there for others, but I no longer take that shit home.
I am also at that stage in my life where self-confidence trumps caring about what others think, and in turn, I will do what I have to do for me, without apologies. And if that sounds selfish,
well, I truly don’t care. -tM
Love itself isn’t complicated, it is the relationship that we have with ourselves that is. When love comes to town, what is your approach? Do you embrace its flame or do you extinguish its light in the name of self-sabotage? -tM
A reminder to be playful in life and design, that is what this image implores of me.
The unexpected placement of these two bronze panthers circa 1930, in the middle of the hallway, stand in contrast to there surroundings. They require you to stop, look, engage, and acknowledge there beauty and position. Playing with the rules, in life and in design is good for the soul. -tM
Do you picnic?
I have always liked the idea of throwing a blanket on the grass or sand, kicking off the shoes, letting the wind blow through my hair as I ate at the thought of the beauty that surrounds me, but realistically, I have never found them enjoyable, or comfortable for that matter. They are made for movie moments that I wish would feel just like they look on the big screen.
At the end of the day, just like sex on a beach, the idea of it all is always better then the reality. I fail to feel the romance of it all. How about you? How often do you picnic? -tM
Man Ray, The Prayer, 1930
The meeting of the hands, buttocks, and feet invite the viewer to take the time to take a new look at nudity.
Saul Leiter, In My Room, circa 1950-1960
Sensual in its ability to tell the story of women in everyday life,Saul Leiter shot a series of nudes; friends, lovers, and other women in his life which resulted in spontaneous snapshots with subdued eroticism.
Lucien Clergue, Nude Woman Swimming, 1973
She swims in light. The photography is clean, fresh, and modern.
Nobuyoshi Araki, Untitled, 2008
Interested in taboo themes, of eroticism, sex, and voyeurism, the bound and naked girls pay homage to Kinbaku the Japanese art of bondage.
I used to be a ballerina. There were parts of it I absolutely loathed, and then there were the parts that made me feel free.
I still dream about those parts. -tM
I love the honesty that candid photography is able to capture. Beautiful or ugly, there is a vulnerability in the truth that it conveys. -tM
Oh the classic Cat Eye, there are so many variations that can one can play with along with tips and trick and many eyeliner tragedies, I have finally settled on one that works for me.
I use a pot, Make-Up Forever, matte gel, (it last all day, and doesn’t smudge) and a thin pointy painterly brush. I start from the centre and move out, stopping at the natural end of my eye. I then, or sometimes before put a piece of coloured paper wrapping tape on the end-bottom of my eye, going from the bottom on an angle, just to have a guideline for my flick, and then I carefully draw that on, remove the tape, and voila, flawless. My last step is to go in and thinly do the corner part of my eye.
Now the trick is always getting the other side to match, however, one eye is always slightly different, just like the eyebrows, they are cousins, not sisters. So make sure to go with the structure of that particular eye, otherwise it will really look mismatched.
And depending on the day, time of day, or outfit, the intensity of that feline flick may change. And that is the beauty of the Cat Eye, it has the power to speak a great language.-tM
This also applies to changes and growth, when you no longer fit the mould of that friendship or relationship. There is no sadness in leaving what doesn’t work behind. Remember, don’t look back, you aren’t going that way. -tM
Uffff, how I adore this wallpaper.
Vintage & sexy, it conjures up all kinds of feelings, and lends itself to many interpretations depending on the accessories; from tacky, to dirty old man, or perhaps eclectic older woman, to an abandoned parlour where dusty old books sit, waiting to be handled again, and lastly, classic and timeless. That is the thing about animal print, it can be all of the above depending on presentation.
I find it interesting that this particular presentation makes me feel many things. You don’t have to be a fly on the wall to hear what the walls are saying here. -tM
People tell us who they are all of the time. It is up to us to decide whether we listen and acknowledge their truth. -tM
Those of us who live in the city, sometimes feel like we are going to melt into the heat and humidity often find ourselves wishing for a little pool relief.
This little innovation reminded me of just that. Hippy Chic, bathtub in the ground, and voila, a wadding pool that will last as long as the bathtub remains crack free. Cooling down is essential in summer months, and this is clever. -tM
It is not often that we see someone of a mature age depicted is such a carefree and involved way.
A playful spirit, confidence, and interest in life, are beautiful things. -tM
A multi media Artist, Lauré`s work is thought provoking to say the least. These are just a few selections of different mediums she continues to work with. They vary from sculpture, installations, video, tapestry, performance art, to name a few. She tells stories through art that explore the fine lines of balance between fiction and reality through personal myth and universal themes. -tM
Whatever happened to style? Whatever happened to the imagination that helped create an image to express who you are uniquely as an individual?
The more I look around, the less I am inspired. Teenagers, the ones that should be exploring who they are through fashion all look the same. There is a uniform for each age group it seems. I long for the days when subcultures, sprung out of the music they listened to, influenced their attitude and their style. Everything is so generic these days, creativity on all levels seems to have left the building.
The 80’s were a time of creativity and exploration. We have lost that somewhere along the way as Corporations and Fast Fashion take over and we march to the beat of another type of drum.
But then again, perhaps it is me, just getting older and longing for a time where my youth felt incredibly important and influential.
What do you think? -tM