That's A Lot Of Wine... Love The Interior Though

making big waves with little splashes. 

Progression into the night, expelling my thoughts. WIP.

Well... Shit. 

I told them Physics was hard!

Newton’s notebook pages

Late night writings #4

There is a high fashion lifestyle that I am not part of. Mostly due to the fact that I cannot even afford the knock-off Prada and Gucci and even Meiling... But also due to (and this is where it gets cooler for me to say) the fact that I as an independent artist but forge my own path in a blaze of glory, and thus, I must sew my own shorts.

What is an artist?

IMO, an artist is someone who creates from within their very spirit and soul... with every motivation secondary to the base desire to cover your canvas (whatever your artform may be) with the very essence of your being. An artist does not talk about being an artist. An artist does not call oneself an artist neither should one expect to be recognised as such.

An artist creates. 

Not without purpose or without message ingrained... That is a byproduct of your influences and environment... but at its core, pure creation and your very DNA. 

Create.

Love the shelf!

Urban pad mixes rustic-modern with reclaimed pieces

Her eyes are so soulful... Their traditional wear is so beautiful though... #awesome!

Today’s photograph features a woman dressed in traditional Iraqi clothing.  Taken in Baghdad, Iraq.

Work in progress. The name will come soon. When I take a better picture. 

Took this with a Sony Cybershit dsc... I thought it would be too much hassle to get out my dslr.  All the colours look weird.

The 2nd photo is better no? That's that dslr goodness. 

Iz

Hey kbanfield check this out. 

truth about him from the eyes of a fern

i saw him painting yellow in the rain.  

weathered with moss and pale patches that looked like a gutter with massive, dried toothpaste stains - the wall of the dull, intrusive cellphone tower caught my interest, one day.

first, i noticed the great portion of soothing blue that began to mask the ugliness, then i was quickly enchanted by the yellow—the colour of that good, beloved kind of powdered curry. i was  D   R   A   W   N. through the back glass, i managed to see only an afro—glorious in the rain. the taxi ripped me away from the scene—curious, inspired, intrigued.

but i found out. thanks, Dani :) it was KRISTON BANFIELD.

for all his life, and nineteen of mine, Kriston Banfield and i were “neighbours”. he is now 20 and laughed when i divulged my occasional “give one” or “take one” formula for sharing my age. but i stated it honestly. it was not important for me to cheat youth or maturity in that instance.

we walked for a bit in the rain while i tried to regulate my excitement that he was a new source of inspiration for me, and i hope, the community.

his vibrant, enlightened beings will share spaces along the lengthy one-way-in-one-way-out road in my “Past de Lighthouse” community. i allow myself to be carried away with my own sentimentality and be persuaded that the fantastic, emulsified characters will move people to appreciate this public form of expression. perhaps it will encourage them to relay their own positive messages, activating a new sense of pride in the valley.  

Banfield’s animated use of colour and his kinetic lines constitute energy, movement and change. they communicate and evoke so many thoughts and possibilities, to me.

i am in full support of what he is doing and am grateful that he is taking time and showing interest in doing it here, in “de bush”—in Santa Cruz. FULL RESPECT TO THIS POSITIVE YOUTH. he real kewl too. check out his blog: http://kbanfield.tumblr.com/   

Light.

This is what I do on the daily. #product #photography #work #seamlessbackground. Still got so much edits to do tho! Big up #canon cuz my ole faithful #rebelt2i still hanging in there. #denim #grip

Late night writings #1

And I sat and wondered on the universe, and all the things that settled on the surface of our world and my brow furrowed...

Why do we kick up the dust that we were birthed from?

Why do we spit on the womb from which we emerged?

Emerged immersed in purity that we proceed to tarnish, developing a hideous patina we call beauty... Why?