“when i examine myself and my methods of thought, i come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking.” // a. einstein
i don’t allow much room for fantasy – heavy shoes keep toes on the ground. but, should i let my mind wander, it’s no surprise that daydreams are spurred on by such epic beauty. i’ve become rather sure actually that delpozo is what dreams* are made of.
“if honor be your clothing, the suit will last a lifetime; but if clothing be your honor, it will soon be worn threadbare” // w. arnot
truth be told – i don’t actually remember the last time something new, to be worn, came into the house; that bulk purchase of tights for the winter season doesn’t count.
i’ve been so consumed with the purchasing of inventory and keeping a healthy stock, what i’ve been wearing has been shuffled to the wayside. everything i’m wearing, i’ve been wearing for years now. the fabric softer than intended from countless washes, the obsidian dyes have all but become faded dark greys. the interest in clothes is there, as always, but it’s become more as a spectator than that of a consumer. i know at some point i’ll have to do an edit and all threadbare, pilled, and worn ragged items will have to be replaced for all things shiny and new – or at least, less tatty looking. i’m just relieved that this time of year begs nothing more of me than giant sweaters and those bought-in-bulk tights – i’m not able to muster the energy for more than that anyway. january 2016, though? that’ll be my time to bring home the new…
it’s mandated that i stockpile all toilet and paper towel rolls, cardboard stay-flats that come with every delivery of stock for the main gig are kept in a not-so orderly stack under her desk. there are the teensiest shreds of paper and all sorts and sundry of card-stock hidden under every sofa, side chair, and corner of the house; of course, we can’t discount the dog hair, glitter, and general detritus of living. hello, my most epic of dust bunnies.
i love that my kid has ideas, an imagination that won’t quit, and tells a mean joke. i love that she’s found a use for the dozens of rolls of washi tape i cannot help but to keep buying. i love it. i don’t share her love of cutting things up, making scraps; of gluing fingers together or of colouring until the markers bleed through; but i wouldn’t dare let that stop her.
my craftiness lies in more organized pursuits – wrapping gifts, doing whatever it is i do here and then there’shaving a rather acute appreciation of clothes that may or may not look like my kid might’ve coloured and cut those up as well.
“men who wish to know about the world must learn about it in its particular details.” // heraclitus
more and more, it’s become infinitely clear – life is not at all about the big picture.
it’s about the smallest of details, magnified x 100, taken apart and put back together over and over, and over again.
from the outside, it can seem a right bore, the minutiae of the most mundane things taken so seriously – know i’m not talking about doing a shop and lamenting the price on organic bell peppers and how bad city traffic has become. no, i’m talking about those unexpected details that turn the everyday, into the almost extraordinary. a surprise hidden in a gather, a pleat, a sequin or hidden pocket.
“hair brings one’s self-image into focus; it is vanity’s proving ground.
hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.” // s. alexander
i had my hair cut yesterday.
it’s not something i like to talk about and it’s not something that gives me much pleasure; i do it because i have to. so twice a year, before the freeze sets in and then again before summer approaches, i give myself over to those who have no clue what it is i’m trying to do or say– with my hair.
some of you are rather eloquent; your hair is long and loose, a cascade of waves – like, a breeze in mid-may. or it hangs like a sheet of glass, razor sharp and straight as an arrow. or, you tie it up in a laid-back topknot, and you’re the girl who’s low-maintenance, relaxed, and only have low-grade drama in your life; parking tickets and sometimes your friends laugh how you can be in your head a bit. it’s not annoying, it’s cute – and then i roll my eyes so far into my head i worry they’ll get stuck.
me? i’m a tangled mess. i don’t brush my hair… on purpose. when i wash it, it’s with products that add grit, as opposed to softness and shine. the water makes it clean, the suds i use, do not. i don’t want you to be able to run your hands through it. i’d rather it look dry and unruly.
so. you can understand my irritation with the person and the scissors they wield – who only see me as a head of hair, and not my hair as an extension of myself. now, if my therapist could trim hair – then, perhaps my hair would be closer to my truth.
➝ source : surfcomber tousled texture mousse via oribe