PUT ON YOUR MACKINAW

2011-04-30T20:38:00.000-07:00

Welcome, Autumn.

2010-10-13T21:23:00.000-07:00

2010-09-15T20:03:00.000-07:00

zzz

2010-09-06T23:12:00.000-07:00

little paper flags

2010-09-01T15:32:00.000-07:00

http://kiskex.tumblr.com/post/852718603/via-michelle-k-a

http://temporary-truths.blogspot.com/

http://lovejen.tumblr.com/

http://vanillacakemix.tumblr.com/page/2

http://lachild.tumblr.com/page/3

http://community.livejournal.com/0ktavia/64451.htm

http://wearingpyjamas.tumblr.com/post/1010515568/weblockoutthesun-via-fusels-tanyafavitta

http://freshlemonade.tumblr.com/

http://dskodust.tumblr.com/

http://tatielle.tumblr.com/post/50520299

Easy Does It

2010-05-10T21:16:00.000-07:00

http://lieblings.weerke.de

I Eat Glitter For Breakfast

2010-05-09T18:05:00.000-07:00

http://freetikiforall.xanga.com/

http://soicanbreathe.xanga.com/

http://www.rodeo.net/signe/2010/02/08/glugg-och-paljetter/

http://skinnyprincess.tumblr.com/

http://fairybread.tumblr.com/

http://www.tumblr.com/dashboard

Sanctuary Clothing Los Angeles

J. Crew. I just bought a gold belt there. This one, I think, is for the little girls. The fact that it is awesome still remains.

This little number can be found at Free People.

Sweden

2010-05-09T17:12:00.000-07:00

My friend Raquel and I are working on visiting Sweden this October. Simply trying to gather some Swedish inspiration. One more thing to cross off the ol' bucket list. I'd like to start attaching visuals to the things I'd like to do and the places I'd like to see. If I had a fancy printer, I'd go so far as to make a bucket list scrapbook. That'd be fancy.

http://lookbook.nu/user/35573-Fanny-M
http://juliaml.blogg.no/

http://lookbook.nu/user/45610-Lovisa-R

http://www.flickr.com/photos/karin_a/2981724994/in/set-72157613589963664/

http://audreyhepburncomplex.tumblr.com/post/506106551

Water for Elephants

2010-05-02T22:36:00.000-07:00

My desktop has become too full. Allow me to share my favourite finds with you. <3

this hair is 100% foxy.

i don't remember the seller's name, but I found this via "teacup ring" on etsy.com and you can too!

anthro, of course. i'd kill for these.

Ira Glass. This American Life is now on instant netflix.

http://fallingandbruising.blogspot.com

sisters

http://thehymnforthecigarettes.blogspot.com/

Spring's Approaching Swiftly. Bless the Indian Summer to Come.

2010-02-14T19:20:00.001-08:00

I am excited about: bare feet and cutoffs and grandma dresses and drinking tea from jars and freckles and swimming in the river and flower garlands and fireflies!

From top to bottom: Hair b&w, Horse and Field, Watermelon, Iced tea, Festival, Indian Summer, Euphoria.

La jetée

2010-02-05T14:16:00.000-08:00

2010-02-05T09:29:00.000-08:00

Love this Icelandic girl's fashion. The composition of her style is quite dream-like. I'm quite romanced by the ethereal backdrops. She synthesizes fashion (without taking matters too far) and culture quite fabulously. You can view her lookbook profile here. It's entirely safe to say that I have become quite fond of this lookbook website. I adore the fact that you can browse by country.

Lately

2010-02-04T14:55:00.000-08:00

from top to bottom: Fanny and Alexander, photo via Weheartit.com, braid!, three stills from the German film The Edukators, gorgeous bedroom via apartment therapy, the most beautiful kitchen of your life via Weheartit.com, A foxy photograph of Albert Camus.

2009-07-16T09:54:00.000-07:00

When exactly is one able to appropriately deem him or herself an artist? Is it the point at which one becomes acquainted with the channel through which one is able to steer society in order that his or her world may be visually interpreted? Is this art of which I make mention not an endeavor to scratch the surface of proclamation by means of circumnavigating language? I'd like to think that an artist resides in every breathing thing-some, more humble. Others, more proud, more productive, less collective, or less aware. In my opinion, art is about gifting those with whom we come in contact a pair of spectacles through which our world can be witnessed to-whether one portrays something cynical, optimistic, or pure is entirely up to the artist. Personality, taste, values, and beliefs all make an irrevocable mark on one's expression. This is the difference that stands between you and I. It is not always a matter of mere talent. My art is my culture, and I do not wish to refrain from making my culture vulnerable.

2009-07-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

I have been listening to nothing but hymns as of late. Perhaps my spirituality has grown a little too contemporary for my preferences. There is something so romantic about singing to the Good Lord with a somewhat hushed voice and subtle piano. I recently purchased a piano on craigslist. I used to play and sing hymns with my German piano in Texas when I found myself home alone, and this is something that I dearly miss. This is a hobby I will have no problem resurrecting, seeing as how I spend about 99% of my time at home...alone. You see, I sometimes feel sorry for myself because of this, but I'm afraid I've grown quite used to spending the majority of my time how I want to spend it-whether it be reading, walking, sipping coffee, or listening to the same song on repeat for an hour and a half. But living without a sense of community isn't living at all.

I am going to be painfully honest with you. I have been licking my wounds for the past two months or so. I sometimes feel that out of all the tears I've cried, a very miniscule amount have been recovered. My plans are always changing. My soul is continuously aching for my ruminations to evolve into a reality. Out of all the things that I hold dear in this life, there is the One I must esteem more highly. Yes, I've longed for what's "forbidden" from me, and I've perhaps little experience with a love that's true, but this is one thing I've found: there is always room. I'm not exactly sure I agree with the statement that "time is on our side," but I've always struggled with the concept of time anyways-of time redeemed, of time wasted, of time fleeting. But room. Room for growth. Room for healing. Room for community. Room for Christ. There is always something in one's life that he can afford to throw overboard in order to create space.

Eloquence is something I've always considered important. This is not to say that I will frown upon one's colloquial vocabulary, but I do think there is something very precious about the gift of language; however, I fancy the idea that I don't have to speak in order to pray. I can groan and weep and the Holy Ghost will stand in my defense. This i know to be true. I also think reading books is important. I must confess, I have a bit of a problem with people who, "don't read books." I consider books to be an avenue through which one can interpret fugitive conceptions. I respect those who follow up on current events. I respect those who are disciplined enough to listen. I respect those who are brave enough to weep. I respect those who are humble enough to submit themselves to the authority of suspension. I respect those who find comfort in silence.

I was once voicing these things to a dear friend of mine when she dumbfounded me with wisdom. "It's great that all these things are important to you, but what's the most important thing to you? You can't loose sight of that."

ouch.

Can Christ's providence validate transcendence? Of course it can. But I will continue to learn this abiding lesson 'til the day I die. I'm a stupid mortal with selfish intentions and cravings that I fail to bridle.

Sometimes I just want to shake the doubt right out of people; to take hold of them by the shoulders and scream, "Accept the Lord!" But I am soon distressed at my own need for this.

And thank God salvation doesn't come about like that. I'd be damned.

"I need thee every hour, most gracious Lord;no tender voice like thine 
can peace afford."

2009-07-01T20:19:00.000-07:00

"Doubt is useful for a while. We must all pass through the Garden of Gethsemane. If Christ played with doubt, so must we. If Christ spent an anguished night in prayer, if He burst out from the Cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" then surely we are also permitted to doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation." -Yann Martel, Life of Pi

2009-04-30T00:08:00.000-07:00

.I miss these summertime memories terribly.

.Take care of yourself, you peaceful, sea-foam beach house.

2009-04-23T01:21:00.000-07:00

It's always times during which I fixate on detail that I begin to feel at peace in my corridor. I ruminate on things like loose hemming on a silk slip in order to feel detached from the prison of a numb disposition. How is it possible to return home to emptiness? What kind of home possesses void?

While taking a nap next to complete strangers, I've begun twisting myself in to knots over what's forbidden from me; transatlantic endeavors hang over my numb shoulders like a colloquial explanation for fear. Semantics can provide as much comfort as a heartless prayer that has been birthed from a proud intention.

Illusions seep in to my sleep and disrupt any environment in which peace could consciously exist. 'Tis far too late to unravel unsuspecting thread; I was too naive to catch it at the first knot; I've already cradled the acidity of apathy.

an encasement too small

2009-04-21T16:36:00.000-07:00

My dear little patio, so esteemed in my nostalgic perspective. She's so modestly furnished and starved for adornment. I am nothing but comatose at the thought of her figure. I've crossed my fingers before. May I share a little sympathy on her behalf? She's skin and bones. Yet, all I I've loved are the ferns and my cloves. Should the lantern burn out whilst I am turning pages, I'd be quick to strike a match. Why then is she so famished for my concern? What an empty little dwelling I've created! You see, it takes both my recipient & I to score the surface of an awakening. After months of what I'd perceived to be confiding, I'd found myself concealing. My bottom lip possesses a tendency to turn downward. Denial cannot exist in a face like mine; I've confronted my inability to purse. Should his heart grow too large for it's encasement, it may begin to leak into my speech.

northern lights

2009-02-09T14:36:00.000-08:00

Should the morning light last all day, we'd make haste as we hold our canopies upright. I'd drape fleece over my dreaming shoulders. And should I begin to fight complacency, I'd be too fearful to signal in the midst of this rain. And should my parasol become weak, I've always fiction to confide in. My yarn consists of a warm living room on a lowly-lit afternoon. Should your thin lips surface the rim of a warm porcelain tumbler, I'd be forced to believe you are drinking consent as I imbibe on contempt. My eyes are fixed upon the static of non-fiction and the commonality we ought to share, but don't. I'll share my fleece if you'll share your consideration.

today

2009-02-02T23:53:00.000-08:00

It only took the sound of a lightly-played piano at midnight to cause my heart to stop and ruminate on my own complacency. I've been waiting for this heavenly interjection for months on end. I'd forgotten of the aches that accompany refinement;however, I'd rather feel sad than unclean. I'd rather see a light at the end of the tunnel than find myself fixed in the midst of strange company. I'm ready to accept grace again. I want to rise early and spend time with my Divine on a consistent basis. I want to exercise my intellect as well as my body. I want to literally lock myself in my room and paint for hours on end again. I pray that my thoughtfulness might be restored; that my contemplative spirit might reign more prominent than my impulsive tendencies. I am so weary of wishing to mean what I say; I'm ready to say what I mean and mean what falls from my lips. I long to possess a healing, safe disposition.

nine hundred and something

2008-12-19T23:10:00.000-08:00

Blood boils beneath the cloak of conviction you have clothed yourself with; the warmth is even too much for you to bear. (let alone the victims of your sudden prominence)

Such laugh lines are beautiful to me, yet I, upon watching you laugh, see through to those few long years in which they were put to rest. (a season spent in licking wounds)

And if one should marvel at the beauty of a great lioness, but begin to feel afraid with each and every step with which she is to draw nearer, I should feel the same about the wonderment I've found in you. (as well as the cautiousness I'd disregarded)

Warmth

2008-11-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

In the midst of an an inexplicably difficult season, the sun has decided as of a few weeks ago that it should comply with the winter solstice and allow it's light to dissipate at a much earlier hour. Last Monday, upon driving to my evening class, the sun was setting behind me as I was driving through Gopher Canyon; Copeland was once again softly resounding from my speakers, and suddenly I felt at peace. How I wish the sweetness of such stillness and warmth would present itself unto me more frequently; though I must not deny the fact that the absence of such placidity is no one's fault but mine.

I shall leave you with an excerpt from Gilead by Marilyn Robinson:

"The moon looks wonderful in this warm evening light, just as a candle flame looks beautiful in the light of morning. Light within light. It seems like a metaphor for something...

It seems to me like a metaphor for the human soul, the singular light within the general light of existence. Or it seems like poetry within language. PErhaps wisdom within experience. Or marriage within friendship or love."

Twickenham

2008-10-26T12:04:00.001-07:00

I am currently nestled by the heater of my temporary English turf. I've such a love for this cozy, little community. I am a forty-minute train ride from the bustling city of London. Perhaps I shall return one fine day for a bit longer than ten days. Oh, the inevitable responsibilities we must carry on our shoulders that prohibit us from packing up and acting upon the beats of our hearts.

I have, as of late, become increasingly provoked as I have been ruminating on the fact that most cannot appreciate each other unless a commonality of one's work is involved. Should you and I resist relation due to our seemingly unsimilar language?

Yet I, too, lack grace for the opinions that have been directed towards me in regard to a lack of understanding in my interests. For instance, I feel a vast sense of contribution in the exchanging of communication. Simple, it may seem, but I believe we are all deserving of direct communication, and we've all a longing to receive it. Should one suggest that such correspondence is unproductive, I would truly doubt that he/she and I may posses any concept of each other's emotive language. How is it that an intimate friendship can exist without the discernment of another's needs, preferences, love language, etc.?

I give to you, reader, my condolences as I seem incredibly pessimistic. I'm honestly in hopeful spirits.

Please, though, do give to me your thoughts.

And if you've the time, listen to "On the Safest Ledge" by Copeland.

All My Love.