The Unending Waterfalls Of Change

Another incredible weekend of transformation. We aren't here to stay the same, that much I know. Here's another one from our recent shoot with Hannah and another poem by Mary Oliver.

Vultures

Like large dark

lazy

butterflies they sweep over

the glades looking

for death,

to eat it,

to make it vanish,

to make of it the miracle:

resurrection. No one

knows how many

they are who daily

minister so to the grassy

miles, no one

counts how many bodies

they discover

and descend to, demonstrating

each time the earth's

appetite, the unending

waterfalls of change.

No one,

moreover,

wants to ponder it,

how it will be

to feel the blood cool,

shapeliness dissolve.

Locked into

the blaze of our own bodies

we watch them

wheeling and drifting, we

honor them and we

loathe them,

however wise the doctrine,

however magnificent the cycles,

however ultimately sweet

the huddle of death to fuel

those powerful wings.

-Mary Oliver

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

A weekend of playing in the woods is sometimes all I need feel balanced again. For a weekend, we live in a world so playful and full of possibility, our outside fears diminish and we leave with clarity. Today is, of course, the Summer Solstice and the first day of the sun in the sign of Cancer (my sign). The brightest and longest day of the year before we slowly start unwinding and spreading out into the light we've built up. It is lovely to read some of Emily Dickinson's more mystical poetry--to catch her in moments of awe and wonder of the pure beauty and apart from her humanly skepticism.

--

Above shot is by Ben Pigao with model Hannah Gale and styling and makeup by me. Feather earrings are Sahlia Jewelry and clothes are model's own. More from this lovely summery shoot to come.

122

A something in a summer’s Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer’s noon —
A depth — an Azure — a perfume —
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer’s night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see —
Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle — shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me —
The wizard fingers never rest —
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes it narrow bed —

Still rears the East her amber Flag —
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red —

So looking on — the night — the morn
Conclude the wonder gay —
And I meet, coming thro’ the dews
Another summer’s Day!

-Emily Dickinson

A Most Elegant Book Of Nonsense

I was flipping through my copy of The Best Poems of the English Language (edited by Harold Bloom) trying to find an appropriate poem to go along with this dreamy series (also shot by Daniel Ellis at the Oregon Lavender Farm) when I came upon a classic childhood favorite, a bright bloom of a poem in the heavy landscape of work by the likes of William Blake and William Shakespeare, William Wordsworth and Edgar Allan Poe. Here, an untortured poem with odd characters and wonderfully light, nonsense pro se. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat from A Book of Nonsense by the dear Edward Lear. Here we have models Kara Jean Caldwell and Jillian Rabe, styled by Samantha Lemieux and makeup by Abibat Durosimi. Now, time for me to join the amazingly peculiar characters in my life for a weekend of frolicking in the forest on the Oregon Coast to celebrate the coming Summer Solstice.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

    In a beautiful pea-green boat,

They took some honey, and plenty of money,

    Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,

    And sang to a small guitar,

"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

    What a beautiful Pussy you are,

         You are,

         You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!

    How charmingly sweet you sing!

O let us be married! too long we have tarried:

    But what shall we do for a ring?"

They sailed away, for a year and a day,

    To the land where the Bong-tree grows

And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood

    With a ring at the end of his nose,

         His nose,

         His nose.

With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

    Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."

So they took it away, and were married next day

    By the Turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined on mince, and slices of quince,

    Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

    They danced by the light of the moon,

         The moon,

         The moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

-Edward Lear

   

Mad Girls' Love Song

Yum. I love the dark mood and styling. Here are two Portland models on top of their game: Kate Troedsson and Jillian Rabe. Also shot by Daniel Ellis out at the Oregon Lavender Farm, styled by Elena Grace Crowson and Jillian Rae Jewel with makeup by Abibat Durosimi. Like the thunderbird, we are back in spring with a fresh chance at life. Sylvia Plath begs us to be careful who we love.

 Let's start by loving ourselves, madly.

Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think made you up inside my head.)

-Sylvia Plath

Spring Is When Everything Turns To Music

 

The talented gals from the Art Institute fashion program invited me out to their shoot at the Oregon Lavender Farm to help with makeup. In these pics models Sydney Babcock and Kate Troedsson are shot by Daniel Ellis styling by Jillian Rae Jewel and Samantha Lemieux and makeup by me. Jillian and Samantha wanted coral-peachy-pink eyes, lips and cheeks. I loved doing such sweet girly makeup. There's something nice about just pretty sometimes. And there's just something about spring...makes everything seem more light and hopeful. The farm is out toward Mt. Hood, so there we were out in this lush fragrant landscape with a huge beautiful mystical mountain as backdrop. With all this rain and gray this spring and last, I think it's quite necessary to soak up every last speck of vitamin D and roll around in as many lavender fields as possible.

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On the topic of Mary Oliver, a couple lines from her that my friend Ryan sent me last night: "You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves." Indeed.

The Path To Heaven Doesn't Lie Down In Flat Miles

Shot by Daniel Ellis, makeup by me, styled by Samantha Lemieux and model Sydney Babcock.

Poem by Mary Oliver.

The Swan

Across the wide waters

    something comes

         floating--a slim

             and delicate

ship, filled

    with white flowers--

        and it moves

            on its miraculous muscles

as though time didn't exist,

    as though bringing such gifts

         to the dry shore

             was a happiness

almost beyond bearing.

    And now it turns its dark eyes,

         it rearranges

             the clouds of its wings,

it trails

    an elaborate webbed foot,

         the color of charcoal.

             Soon it will be here.

Oh, what shall I do

    when that poppy-colored beak

         rests in my hand?

              Said Mrs. Blake of the poet:

I miss my husband's company--

    he is so often

         in paradise.

              Of course! the path to heaven

doesn't lie down in flat miles.

    It's in the imagination

         with which you perceive

              this world,

and the gestures

    with which you honor it.

          Oh, what will I do, what will I say, when those

                       white wings

                   touch the shore?

-Mary Oliver

Goodbye Is Never Easy...No Wonder You Just Left

Loss

When the sun
falls behind the sumac
thicket the
wild
yellow daisies
in diffuse evening shade
lose their
rigorous attention
and
half-wild with loss
turn
any way the wind does
and lift their
petals up
to float
off their stems
and go

-A.R. Ammons

Portland Art Institute Fashion Show

This Saturday: Art Institute Fashion Show. Here we have our favorite Portland blonde Kate Troedsson, shot by Shaun Mendiola, with makeup and hair by me.