It's vintage style with a touch of regency encases a snapshot of a memory of time gone by. The elegant antique provides a portal, a beautiful ornate gateway to another world. Inside this world are friends, classmates, family who were more than mere acquaintances; dancing and laughing with familiar surrounds and music thousands of miles from where the owner lies now.
She adventures into the past with a graceful leap between the baroque carved edges into a realm of 4D memorabilia. Her companions have not changed or moved since she left, their hair and make-up still perfectly intact even though the party had started a month before. Thrown into a party close to midnight, she catches a glance of her own reflection in a mirror, seeing that she is wearing a silky midnight blue dress hugging every inch of her body, teamed with high heels giving her the confidence to walk like a supermodel. Deep rouge coating her lips and her eyes framed with full, luscious lashes. The same cherished song is playing over and over; time has stood still, waiting for her return.
Raising crystal flutes, splashing droplets of expensive champagne as they clink glasses together and announce wishes of good luck to their adored friend who is due to leave in only a few short days. The elaborate soiree continues and they all desert their drinks to journey to the shiny dance floor. Pretty young things frolic and cavort in tune to the rhythm of rock and roll blaring from speakers above their intoxicated heads.
It's getting late, the clock striking three. Her best friend rushes to get one last photograph of the night in hope to catch their smiling expressions. Planning to secretly use the photo as part of a gift she had planned involving a small oval frame that would tuck into her adored friend's luggage snugly. Little did she know her gesture was full of magic and offered more than a mere illustration to induce one's memory. They strike a pose, and when the flash goes off, the night is over.
Saturday, 14 May 2011
Personal #2The Notebook
Carried in her handbag with the rest of her daily items; her purse, umbrella, a small make-up bag and her keys to her apartment among other essentials. The classic hard black cover with its rounded edges encase a lifetime of information. The elastic closure ensures the privacy of its pages and warns of strangers. Simple, versatile with a delicate sewn spine, there is a thin, silky black ribbon attached.
Feeling a wave of emotion the closure unlatches itself exposing scribbling and illustrations that create a bold image of the owner's personality. There is an array of phone numbers, to do lists, general thoughts reminiscing of times gone past. The writer is more creative than the average 'Dear Diary' writer with vivid illustrations, poems and great descriptions of inspiration upon the cream coloured paper. The pages flick as if a great gust of wind is forcing it to present itself. The pages stop its journey through the notes, sketches, thoughts and passions and land on the first blank page.
Delicate calligraphic writing appears letter by letter on the plain parchment. Written slowly and accurately each letter is like a piece of art to the writer, with rhythmic pauses as if the invisible writer is dipping the tip of the pen into black ink. The technical skill must have taken years of hard practice. The notebook begins to write its own acknowledgement of the owner's adornment towards her lover. It writes of her beau's handsome looks and stunning blue eyes. The soft strokes of ink express how greatly he is missed by the owner with find affection and longing thoughts.
And with that, the letter is signed off. The paper carefully perforates itself, tearing gently apart from the rest of the pages. The paper folds itself beautifully in the air into an envelope shape and addresses itself to start its journey; sealing it with a spray of perfume. It then glides of smoothly and freely in the air to deliver the love letter.
Feeling a wave of emotion the closure unlatches itself exposing scribbling and illustrations that create a bold image of the owner's personality. There is an array of phone numbers, to do lists, general thoughts reminiscing of times gone past. The writer is more creative than the average 'Dear Diary' writer with vivid illustrations, poems and great descriptions of inspiration upon the cream coloured paper. The pages flick as if a great gust of wind is forcing it to present itself. The pages stop its journey through the notes, sketches, thoughts and passions and land on the first blank page.
Delicate calligraphic writing appears letter by letter on the plain parchment. Written slowly and accurately each letter is like a piece of art to the writer, with rhythmic pauses as if the invisible writer is dipping the tip of the pen into black ink. The technical skill must have taken years of hard practice. The notebook begins to write its own acknowledgement of the owner's adornment towards her lover. It writes of her beau's handsome looks and stunning blue eyes. The soft strokes of ink express how greatly he is missed by the owner with find affection and longing thoughts.
And with that, the letter is signed off. The paper carefully perforates itself, tearing gently apart from the rest of the pages. The paper folds itself beautifully in the air into an envelope shape and addresses itself to start its journey; sealing it with a spray of perfume. It then glides of smoothly and freely in the air to deliver the love letter.
Personal #3Locket
her bare shoulders and neck
perfect place to showcase her keepsake;
the pendant, looped through a delicate chain
dangling above her midriff.
amongst the precious metals,
a single ruby jewel casts a red shimmering face.
it was her keepsake, a part of her;
only one vacancies in her locket:
how can one choose only one
photo, person, memory
out of a whole lifetime?
her locket lives bare.
perfect place to showcase her keepsake;
the pendant, looped through a delicate chain
dangling above her midriff.
amongst the precious metals,
a single ruby jewel casts a red shimmering face.
it was her keepsake, a part of her;
only one vacancies in her locket:
how can one choose only one
photo, person, memory
out of a whole lifetime?
her locket lives bare.
LMFF Presents Alex Perry
The L'Oreal Melbourne Fashion Festival showcased Alex Perry's grand debut at the Royal Exhibition Buildin
g in the lovely Carlton Gardens. The location was the perfect setting for the exquisite show planned for the night of Wednesday 16th of March.
'Australia's most glamorous designer' stunned the audience with his 'Cuban Princess' Spring/Summer 2011 Collection. The show opened with Australian model and actress Megan Gale in head-to-toe crisp white to the tune of Michael Jackson's 'Don't Stop Till You Get Enough.' The lighting and music effects created a perfect atmosphere for the models to parade down the runway in crisp whites, fire reds, deep blues, and lush limes. The creations brought serious cuban heat to the show, exploring a more daring side of Perry who usually favoured a more muted colour palette in his collections.
The first flurry of ensembles were all in
dazzling, crisp white then the dresses travelled into hot havana nights with sultry colours head-to-toe. All the towering models were sleek and beautiful with their hair in tight ponytails cut bluntly across the bottom, capturing the attention of LMFF ambassador Melissa George, model Jessica Gomes and Neighbours actress Valentina Novakovic perched in the front rows. There were many red-carpet signature numbers, with seriously glamorous frocks for sultry nights and extremely smart day wear.
The makeup by L'Oreal Paris was luminous with huge winged eyes. Perry's gowns have been exposed to be favoured by stellar stars such as Australia's own Miranda Kerr and Elle Macpherson.
The show closed with the star of the show Megan Gale in a blood orange latina style frock with Perry alongside. The fashionistas of Melbourne thought that Perry's creations were owed a standing ovation and the long rows took to their feet for the finale.
g in the lovely Carlton Gardens. The location was the perfect setting for the exquisite show planned for the night of Wednesday 16th of March.
'Australia's most glamorous designer' stunned the audience with his 'Cuban Princess' Spring/Summer 2011 Collection. The show opened with Australian model and actress Megan Gale in head-to-toe crisp white to the tune of Michael Jackson's 'Don't Stop Till You Get Enough.' The lighting and music effects created a perfect atmosphere for the models to parade down the runway in crisp whites, fire reds, deep blues, and lush limes. The creations brought serious cuban heat to the show, exploring a more daring side of Perry who usually favoured a more muted colour palette in his collections.The first flurry of ensembles were all in
dazzling, crisp white then the dresses travelled into hot havana nights with sultry colours head-to-toe. All the towering models were sleek and beautiful with their hair in tight ponytails cut bluntly across the bottom, capturing the attention of LMFF ambassador Melissa George, model Jessica Gomes and Neighbours actress Valentina Novakovic perched in the front rows. There were many red-carpet signature numbers, with seriously glamorous frocks for sultry nights and extremely smart day wear.The makeup by L'Oreal Paris was luminous with huge winged eyes. Perry's gowns have been exposed to be favoured by stellar stars such as Australia's own Miranda Kerr and Elle Macpherson.
The show closed with the star of the show Megan Gale in a blood orange latina style frock with Perry alongside. The fashionistas of Melbourne thought that Perry's creations were owed a standing ovation and the long rows took to their feet for the finale.
A Travelling Inventory
Ultramarine blue splashed across the exhausted leather meets the intricate edges of moss green figures. Wheels glide around a dirty white Antarctica and a handle plunged into the depths of the Arctic Ocean. Little red dots attempt to pinpoint where the traveller has visited. Ink smeared with water damage and faint lines show where ink has gone for a run across America, Australia, Brazil, Barcelona, Berlin, Chile, Canada, China .....
The bulky rectangular shaped bag with rounded corners hold her life. Used for transporting clothes and other possessions during trips. It opens using hinges like a door, a mobile wardrobe. Visiting every continent as a fashion writer naturally results in an interesting ensemble of clothes.
The most expensive fur in the world, only grown in Barguzin Nature Reserve in Siberia lies at the bottom of her suitcase. It's rare silky texture with shades of beige, brown, gold, silver and black line the bag and creates a warm, comfortable bed for the rest of her attire.
The tantalising aroma, supple texture and unique grain characteristics of her luxurious leather aviator jacket found in Florence, Italy is spread out on top of the warm fur. The jacket too precious to fold, the seams and linings evidence of perfect craftsmanship.
31 Rue Cambon, Paris. The address of the boutique where she found her little black dress that lounges across the left side of her encasement. Long and elegant, the slender dress flatters her figure as intended by the late couturier Gabrielle 'Coco' Chanel.
Little handmade brogues from Ireland, Levi jeans unearthed in a garage sale in Toronto, a crisp white shirt found in colourful Riberia Market in Lisbon, a silk scarf, silver bangles, a sequin cape, layers and layers of cultured creations all within a suitcase.
The bulky rectangular shaped bag with rounded corners hold her life. Used for transporting clothes and other possessions during trips. It opens using hinges like a door, a mobile wardrobe. Visiting every continent as a fashion writer naturally results in an interesting ensemble of clothes.
The most expensive fur in the world, only grown in Barguzin Nature Reserve in Siberia lies at the bottom of her suitcase. It's rare silky texture with shades of beige, brown, gold, silver and black line the bag and creates a warm, comfortable bed for the rest of her attire.
The tantalising aroma, supple texture and unique grain characteristics of her luxurious leather aviator jacket found in Florence, Italy is spread out on top of the warm fur. The jacket too precious to fold, the seams and linings evidence of perfect craftsmanship.
31 Rue Cambon, Paris. The address of the boutique where she found her little black dress that lounges across the left side of her encasement. Long and elegant, the slender dress flatters her figure as intended by the late couturier Gabrielle 'Coco' Chanel.
Little handmade brogues from Ireland, Levi jeans unearthed in a garage sale in Toronto, a crisp white shirt found in colourful Riberia Market in Lisbon, a silk scarf, silver bangles, a sequin cape, layers and layers of cultured creations all within a suitcase.
Letter From My Locket
Wearing me daily, we did not part; not even to shower or sleep. Through the spring showers, summer breezes, autumn fall and the winter solstice, year upon year. The birthdays, the sleepovers, the tantrums and childish giggles. We were never separated. Occasionally, I'd have loved to just linger in a velvet lined jewellery box for a rest, as the wear and tear brought about scratches and imperfections on my golden body. My single ruby jewel not as shimmering as it once was.
Your innocent blonde curls always tangled in the chain once they had grown long and flowing. Your strong grasp upon the pendant when you felt anxious or scared. Re-opening and closing the delicate little door, closely listening to the little click as you expose the lockets contents.
Now, that you are older, events are arising where you carefully beautify yourself and don't return until the small hours. Taking me off, I am flung to the side and you embellish yourself in costume jewellery. Oh, how I'd love to accompany you on your midnight frolics and have the glimmer of the moon shine on my worn face at a spontaneous soiree. Why do you wish to adorn yourself in junk jewellery? Their cheap, disposable nickel and brass chains are not a match to a genuine investment, a real keepsake, a fine collectible.
I am afraid that I am due to retire as you are slowly beginning to wear me less and less. I am seeing less of your life, the early morning train rides, the classes at school, the sneaky shopping trips and seeing more pitch black. Imprisoned in a drawer in your bedroom filled with odds and ends including scissors, pens, paperclips and little black satin bows you once wore in your hair. It is an uncomfortable place to live unlike the soft sun kissed skin I used to lay my pendant upon.
Yours truly,
Your Little Locket xxx
Your innocent blonde curls always tangled in the chain once they had grown long and flowing. Your strong grasp upon the pendant when you felt anxious or scared. Re-opening and closing the delicate little door, closely listening to the little click as you expose the lockets contents.
Now, that you are older, events are arising where you carefully beautify yourself and don't return until the small hours. Taking me off, I am flung to the side and you embellish yourself in costume jewellery. Oh, how I'd love to accompany you on your midnight frolics and have the glimmer of the moon shine on my worn face at a spontaneous soiree. Why do you wish to adorn yourself in junk jewellery? Their cheap, disposable nickel and brass chains are not a match to a genuine investment, a real keepsake, a fine collectible.
I am afraid that I am due to retire as you are slowly beginning to wear me less and less. I am seeing less of your life, the early morning train rides, the classes at school, the sneaky shopping trips and seeing more pitch black. Imprisoned in a drawer in your bedroom filled with odds and ends including scissors, pens, paperclips and little black satin bows you once wore in your hair. It is an uncomfortable place to live unlike the soft sun kissed skin I used to lay my pendant upon.
Yours truly,
Your Little Locket xxx
Senses Of The Notebook
The cocoon of a silkworm, the fine fibre created by a spider to build its web: silk. Silk's attractive luster and drape, its shimmering appearance once only used by the rich because of its luxury price. Its touch sensuous, soft, sleek, smooth like satin. Its tender and velvety presence invites you to glide the fabric along your skin and feel a sense of luxury. Wearing silk feels like indulging yourself in a world of regency, living life like a royal. Stroking the thin silk ribbon of her notebook, her fingertips indulge in a warm silky sensation. No sound was heard as she lay the ribbon on the last page.
The rounded edges are all that's soft about this surface. The hard chalky black cover is not smooth to touch. Through wear and tear, bumps and scratches adorn its face. The black thread in its sewn spine are frayed, coarse, and shaggy to touch. The dyed cardboard has its own strong fragrance; coffee and cigarettes. The writer typically loitered coffee shops and cafes scribbling in her notebook. Its smooth creamy but musky scent is its own biography of where it has travelled, a preview of what may or not be written in its yellowing pages. A dull crash is heard when it is left to free fall to the ground.
The rounded edges are all that's soft about this surface. The hard chalky black cover is not smooth to touch. Through wear and tear, bumps and scratches adorn its face. The black thread in its sewn spine are frayed, coarse, and shaggy to touch. The dyed cardboard has its own strong fragrance; coffee and cigarettes. The writer typically loitered coffee shops and cafes scribbling in her notebook. Its smooth creamy but musky scent is its own biography of where it has travelled, a preview of what may or not be written in its yellowing pages. A dull crash is heard when it is left to free fall to the ground.
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