Got Inspiration?

According to the dictionary, 'inspiration' is the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative. While inspiration is of paramount importance to those of us who count ourselves as creative types (writers, designers, artists, flower arrangers, etc), I think every single human being needs to feel inspired in their lives from the time they wake up in the morning to the time they fall into their beds at night. A life without inspiration is a life devoid of any thrill; it is banal, monotonous and thus worthless. 

It's not our looks that make us attractive; it's what inspires us. I guess that's what makes creative types so attractive to me over your average office worker; there is a big circus tent of inspired creativity going on in that person's head and you can't help but be attracted to it. 

What inspires you? For me, it's literature. Literature that is so powerful and written with such poise and panache that you have to stop and re-read the sentence to fully grasp its brilliance. And of course, other people inspire me. People on the street. Girls who share their charming lives with the world through the 'blog world'. Leith Clark, who is behind Lula. The entire Vogue Paris Crew (Yes, I am rather obsessed by PV). 

At the moment I'm most inspired by my own personal strength. Through difficult times, I have learnt that I have within me the capacity to overcome awful, hurtful circumstances -- a strength and courage I never knew existed.

At the end of the day, your biggest inspiration should be yourself. 

These Boots Are Made For Walking

I love boots, in all forms: over the knee, ankle, mid-calf, flat, high heeled, cuban heeled. Suede, leather, shiny, matte, black, olive, tan...

At the moment I am eyeing a pair of Moschino ankle boots that are gold and crazy cool. Gold is a little tacky, granted, but when worn with a skinny minidress and a black leather jacket they would look amazing. 

It's the little things.

I read the news online at least once a day. It always saddens me to find that the main pictorial inset is of a murder, an explosion or some other equally morbid atrocity. But today theage.com.au features the beautiful story of dolphins swimming in the Yarra River here in Melbourne against an anomalous urbanised background: the freeway! What an odd yet lovely contrast. 

Little wonders like this put a smile on my face. Other little things that make my soul dance include: listening to ancient opera records, dusty old poetry books, peppermint tea at just the right temperature, window shopping at Le Louvre on Collins Street (always resembles the whimsical French-chic of a spread in Paris Vogue), wearing stripes, receiving messages from friends who tell me their leg is stuck in a vending machine at a train station. 

il y a longtemps que je t'aime.

I saw "Il y a longtemps que je t'aime" over the summer with a friend I'm very fond of over bad coffee and an equally bad gluten free blueberry muffin bought at an eatery in Carlton that is open late. While the snacks left alot to be desired, the movie was incredible. Kristin Scott Thomas flawlessly plays the lead, Juliette, a woman who has spent fifteen years in prison and attempts to rejoin the world. This is obviously no simple task; in the beginning of the film, she is a deadened soul; her trench coat appears creased, awkward, out of place-- as the movie progresses, it straightens out as she slowly enmeshes herself back into society. Only at the very end do we learn of her tragic secret as to why she was imprisoned. 

Like most international cinema, it is beautifully and artistically shot. I highly advise anyone to watch this film; its themes are universal in that it addresses loss, love and redemption. It's about being numb and tortured by a memory and feeling your way through life again and all it has to offer. I saw this film six months ago but it still reverberates with me today, especially following the cessation of a long relationship with someone whom I loved very much (and still do). I, just like Juliette, must re-enter a new world (the world of 'just me') as petrifying as it may be; I must learn to live again, to dream, and to love. 

me myself + i

I had my last exam yesterday. I walked my way out of the exam hall along with other streams of young students eager to leave behind the products of their short term memories in exam scriptbooks and ready to embrace freedom and all the wonders it offers: cocktails, movie marathons, baking sessions, dancing, laughing, long promenades. Well that's what I'm looking forward to. Cupcakes with sprinkles and tapas bars and sweet little velvet dresses: All on my to do list for this week.

After the exam, I went for a stroll around the city to do nothing in particular, indifferent in my recent emancipation. Hordes of work people filled the laneways and streets in their monotone uniforms with their sensible black shoes. I didn't feel like eating. I have no appetite. I flicked through the new Lula magazine which absurdly I failed to purchase. I contemplated getting a coffee at Journal on Flinders Lane but they were so busy it seemed an effort. I admired a gypsy band that wasn't playing music but rather discussing their history with a paedestrian. There was an accordion, a tambourine, a guitar and a violin and some other instrument that has escaped the confines of my memory. I thought about buying some fresh flowers but it occured to me that they would soon die and I felt upset. I ended up purchasing two fish; one a pearlescent colour I named Anna Karina and a black cumbersome fish with a fluffy tail and big goggly eyes that I named Godard. They joined the fish tank with my other fish - Fish. 

I transported my new-found aquatic friends back home on a mostly empty carriage and attempted a crossword but the clues were obscure and I couldn't think anymore and I gave up.

Stream of Consciousness

The rain makes a sound on my sky-window that comforts me. It falls evenly and consistently and I like this reliability. My head is pounding as if there is a sharp little hammer inside my cerebrum tap-tap-tapping away above my eyelids and on my temple. Add to this repertoire the fast beating of my heartbeat (which is for the most part, beating unevenly, fluttering like a delicate little papillon above flowers in a meadow) and you have a neat little rythm: heartbeats, raindrops and a throbbing head. 

You're gone and there is nothing I can do about it. 

I want to read everything. I want to read every beautiful goddamn word that every talented writer in the world has ever written. I want to find beauty everywhere and feel nourished to combat this famine. I want to know that beauty exists outside of your countenance and your spirit. 

I want to write poetry. Not stupid, lame poetry, but poetry that is armed with unbelievable feeling and conviction. I think I can do that now, now that I know what it feels like to long for something -- someone -- or rather, an image of someone that you once loved, that changed into someone who could not be touched by affection nor moved by adoration. 

I just want to feel better. 

you just keep me hanging on

Set me free why don't you baby

Get out of my life why don't you baby

You really don't want me child

You just keep me hanging on

You never, never, never needed me

You just keep me hanging on

You said when we broke up

you just wanted to be friends

Tell me, how can we still be friends

when seeing you just breaks my heart again

and there ain't nothing I can do about it

Motown has a crafty way of expressing human sentiment, does it not?  God bless The Supremes for expressing what I am feeling right now in a popular rhythm. Did you know rhythm is the only word in the English language that is made up of purely consants? Good to know in case you are on a game show or sexually attracted to an English nerd like me who loves trivia like that. 

Back to what I was saying - yes, motown, pain, longing, distress, losing people, ejecting people, deleting people - I didn't go that far did I to cover all those sentiments. Well I am feeling them all.  

I don't know what to do with myself anymore. I keep thinking of this one fucking e.e.cummings poem that tears me apart. DAMN YOU E.E.CUMMINGS.

The Midnight Garden

This shot reminds me of dizzingly romantic summer nights out in beautiful gardens playing hide-and-seek, where the prize is a voluptuous kiss.

flavours

I had chargrilled octopus yesterday with a smooth glass of red wine and olive crostini. Amazing. And now I am eating the most succulent oranges. Olives, seafood and citrus food. Decadent. 

Oh and I just purchased the most fine cropped bomber leather jacket. The colour is a lovely tan and the leather is oh so buttery soft. I could just stroke it forever, as it if were some sort of luxurious cat. And it was nearly half price too; Doubly exciting!

I am in good spirits surrounded by some lovely taste and touch sensations. 

Love is...

Rather quite stressful in my opinion. So many opportunities to feel anxious, frustrated, perturbed... 

I should be studying....

But there are just so many more interesting things to do...

Studded Heels and Sequined Dresses.

Fuschia YSL Heels, dresses that sparkle, frivolous wardrobe spaces and a plain white tee tucked into a sexy little Balmain skirt.

Beautiful.

Les Fleurs

There are always flowers for those who want to see them. 

Henri Matisse

Oh Sofia

What would you prefer to see in a campaign for a luxury brand: a model who, while beautiful, really doesn't achieve anything by pouting in front of a camera -- or, an interesting, creative, intelligent woman like Sofia Coppola? I know where my preference lies. I love Sofia. I love her for Lost in Translation. I love her for The Virgin Suicides. I love her for creating the wildly flamboyant sets in Marie Antoinette, and the dreaminess she inspires in the Dior advertisement for Miss Dior Cherie. And I love the roomy black bag with the strap she has created for Louis Vuitton! It is the perfect day bag. I'm not really a fan of the LV classic canvas monogram but somehow this shoot makes me like it (the top four shots). The little personal touches - the vase of flowers, the camera, the bookshelf- give it a sense of intimacy and accessibility, far removed from the world of cold and static high-fashion advertisements. 

Love Minus Zero/No Limit

Watching this clip makes me oh so happy. My love, she speaks like silence/without ideals or violence ... 

Bob Dylan playing Love Minus Zero/No Limit

Chloe Delights

I quite like what Hanna MacGibbon is doing with Chloe these days. I like the palette, for starters; the mushroom coloured boots, the caramel of the shorts, the luxurious mother-of-pearl of those slacks. Have a closer look at the ankle boots; the beauty is in the details. I love the way they lace up and fold back to reveal a beautiful contrast between the mushroom and the caramel. I think the look is quite grown up, with a dash of that classic playful Chloe-ness that girls have come to adore over the past few years. 

Une Fille Un Style: Paris Vogue

The Paris Vogue  site has a lovely little section entitled ‘Une fille un style’ in which famed blogger Garance Doré snaps charming ladies in their natural habitat: journalists, musicians, stylists… These pictures are of Daphné Bürki who is a journalist in France. I love the interior of that leather jacket; the pairing of sequins with stripes, and the beautiful silk dresses.

Click here to see more.

Beautiful Spaces

What’s a defining feature of entering your twenties?

Dreaming about owning property.

 

The idea of rent bugs me, owing to its precarious nature. If I am living on land, I want it to be my own. Perhaps I am just a capitalist, aiming to hover above the proletariat. But I think it is more that I like to fully own things, rather than just possess them. The same goes with books. While book-swapping is certainly enjoyable, economical and practical, I rather like to own my books, feel free to crease the pages, not have a heart-attack if I spill tea on a page, underline certain passages that are particularly overwhelming.

 

I've posted some lover-ly interiors above.