thread petals

recently, while visiting michigan, i pillaged my mom's storage. this dress belonged to my grandmother, but still had it's original tags on. though i detest pink clothing --pink is charming in nature, saccharine on women -- it always feels amazing to pull something so beautifully made over my head. it is in mint condition, with a matching sash, but i thought my black scarf would pop.

i know people monetize their blogs by selling ad space; but i also heard of a blogger that re-sells her garments. she puts together a cute outfit and then readers can buy the elements. this dress, as lovely as it is, will never be something that i wear into the world. even though it was my grandmother's, i'd rather it be enjoyed. after all, my grandma Lois never even wore it. (it's not really her style... i wonder if it was actually bought for my mother or aunt -- not that i can imagine either of them touching it with a 10ft pole.) women in my fam don't really do femme.

crowthepainter.tumblr.com

pale pink embroidered dress by Miss Elliette, from the 60s. white leather bow booties by Hot in Hollywood

Valentino Spring 2012

this dress immediately called to mind the Valentino spring runway. the proportions and the lace and the palette.

tropic gothz

remember last night when i was all curmudgeon-y about going to that show/party? yeah? well, it was excellent and i'm super-glad i went. everyone dressed up and was real friendly and i took pictures. taking pictures of scene kids makes me feel like a tourist, but it's different if you know their names or have friends in common, and are enthusiastic about the effort being expended. aaaand i live-tweeted my pics, which is obnoxious on a whole 'nother level.


for my play-along-at-home pals:

kalina like a tim burton rag doll and palm tree-long legs

the most beautiful pirate princess. astonishing braids.

heather lynn, island queen

zach and alyssa, both looking killer, as usual

the other heather, on the left

moi, not really dressed up enough. you can't see my wedge sandals tho!

my buddy davitt. impresario extraordinare. king of the island.

the adorable janice and meg. meg always looks wild. sometimes i see her on the pink line.

i found the theme of the fashion -- and the wing-it attitude of my cohorts -- really inspiring. "tropic goth" is sort of a play on the whole seapunk movement, but it's a very good-natured, gentle ribbing. the various bands were more scuzz-punk than anything else. this girls in this gang usually have something kinda avant going on in terms of their art projects and outfits. if i could hang, they could have a positive influence on my outlook, and maybe spark some collaboration. i like that this group is more interactive with their entertainment, as opposed to people who are just consuming it at other venues around the city.

black and white flowers

SHUA

this is a crazy outfit, one i would never wear. it is too gaudy, too glam, too south beach. here are the elements:

• single button cutaway jacket by elizabeth and james
• silk rococo stripe tee is prada
• silk floral trousers by U.S. Polo Assn.
• scallop-edged velvet mules w/ a rhinestone ankle chain, '40s vintage
• mirror-patent clutch from h&m
• silver stud necklace, '80s vintage
• smoothed hair

kind of neat to put it together, this black and white look, but it's not soigne for the truman capote ball.

i'm supposed to go to a party tonight but i'm feeling down. don't really care. i'll go, and maybe it'll make me feel better, but the whole time i might be checking my phone and grateful to leave when the cops bust it up.

monogram

last sunday i went to a wedding with a boy, as his date. the wedding was lovely and the guests were very au courant. every dude at the wedding was a DJ but i am above name-dropping. the important thing to know is that no matter how cool a social set is, they will still dance badly to Thriller at the reception. (seriously, moving like grandmothers post-hip replacement.)

my date wore a suit. since he pretty much always wears jeans, sometimes pairing them with a jean jacket* or sawed-off vest**, it was clearly a special occasion. does it ameliorate the situation that his suit was black linen from APC and it fit him perfectly?

because it is probably the only time i will ever see him in a suit, i designed a custom monogram for him and embroidered it. i don't think he appreciated the gift; fancy isn't really his thing. i handed it over in the cab and he was like "you made this?" and folded the handkerchief into his pocket.

* my god, what kind of sartoracle trainwreck am i hooking up with?


**but he's also so keeeeeeen. seriously, he always looks great. must be the fit.

real girls

90s Jill Stuart suit, beater zip boots, subtle "love" signifying

vintage embroidered silk blouse from Shanghai.
catwoman sunnies are walter van bierendock X linda farrow projects

a week ago, Shua posted this watercolor to his blog, and no one has commented on it. there's no accounting for taste. maybe it's the difference between fashion illustration and personal style. this is how i actually dress -- i went to work in this and felt great all day. maybe it's kind of tame at first glance, but the suit has a nipped waist, a slight peplum, and turned cuffs. the tweed is a great weight and it's perfectly cut.

last year i set out to dress more like the characters is the first half of Vie héroïque, and i feel pretty good about accomplishing that. more suiting, more fitted pieces. that means less bohemianism, fewer pieces of random frippery, but i feel badass when my outfit is tailored. too loose and i feel like going to bedtime. i can't do any kind of creative work without shoes on, except dance.

http://crowthepainter.tumblr.com/

i got brought to a cool-people wedding over the weekend and wore an LBD, but i looked like a bad bitch. success. i'll have to get that number up here.


this blog needs work.

dreams of an era

this antique dress, from the 1920s, was something my mom picked up when she was a girl. it's made of delicate tulle net, banded by satin ribbons. it is disintegrating and has new rips every time i get it out of the garment bag. i think it might have been a wedding dress. i've only worn it out of the house once -- to the closing of the Ice Factory, almost exactly five years ago. that was a magical heartbreaker of a party, and the end of an era.

crow the painter

shua painted this on sueded board. it has a softer feel than a lot of the illustrations we've worked on. the shoes are vintage givenchy, from the 70s.

so various, so beautiful, so new

Dover Beach

Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

how we walk (or don't) on the moon

the latest from crow the painter:

elizabeth and james velvet zipper-back dress, sam edelman rhinestone spike peeptoes

you obviously can't tell by looking at our posts, but shua and i are always listening to music during our drawing sessions. sometimes i harmonize or improvise with the recording. sometimes, when the playlist ends, i sing to him, a capella.

i do not play cello, have never taken a lesson, but i plucked the neck while he put down paint, and tapped the bow across the strings, in time with whatever songs were on. this is one way to start learning anything; just by trying to listen and keep up.

my lack of discipline begets some major regrets. i have sung near-constantly, since before i understood language... though i try to not do it in public. attempting to play an instrument however is incredibly frustrating, even though, growing up, we had pianos, guitars, harps, a clarinet, a mandolin, and drums of all sorts in the house, i could not decently learn anything. my hands could not do two different things in accord, and i could not remember the sounds produced by different keys or finger-positions. i could memorize whole albums of scat and mimic any wild gliss, but could only envy my classmates when they would come over and perform for my mother. ching-lan and min could play mozart and chopin and beethoven; maria would mash the keys hard for jazz-style compositions. other kids sometimes brought over their own instruments, flute, violin, or saxophone; i was so proud of my friends, and so happy to listen to them.

not being able to accompany my own singing makes me feel un-entitled to sing publicly. most women think that they can sing, but i hold female musicians (especially songwriters) in higher esteem. unless she is really a master of tone and timing, i'm not bowled over by any girl vocalist that has a band of boys backing her. i have been in that position, owning the spotlight and holding nothing but a microphone, but i felt more proud of those times with my harp heavy against my breastbone, even stumbling over lyrics and notes, blushing and sweating.

there are so many things that i do, or attempt, and not one thing at which i excel, but variety is more beautiful to me than anything else. i have surrounded myself with creatives and project partners; my friends are musicians, illustrators, photographers, printmakers, filmmakers, cooks and weavers. i have friends that do social organizing, which is its own art, and friends that teach art. i have friends that are so facile with words even their text messages are a revelation. some of these people even pay rent by putting their creativity to work, which i can't imagine doing, as i find publishing and self-promotion abhorrent.

looking at the pictures above, i think about how i will never be able to play cello like arthur russell, even if i can make sounds that are in semi-accord with World of Echo. plenty of people, though, could be members of an orchestra and never be a prolific visionary. his voice is creaky and his delivery is offhand, but his sense of arrangement and emotionality make such qualities compelling . his lyric phrases are spare yet poetic, often gaining conviction through repetition. i should attempt an extended analysis of one of his songs, like i used to on my old blog.

silly aside: a few weeks ago, when it was unprecedentedly hot for march, i went to bed with the windows open. late into the night, i could hear my hipster neighbors playing arthur russell records. at first i was sort of charmed, because i am such a fan, but after a few hours i was talking trash about them, because their catalogue was so deep, and i wanted to knock out, but couldn't pass out for listening. also, how dare anyone else in my neighborhood appreciate arthur russell. around five in the morning, i realized that my own computer had been left on in the other room, the speakers just quiet enough to make the sound seem far away, and that i was an idiot.

black white and read all over

from a session that actually happened back in february, here comes a handmade polka dot dress. i never post anything here until after Shua has posted it to his tumblr. therefore, sequencing is out of joint, but you can't tell because my hair stays the same. i don't get new tattoos, or tattoos at all. no piercings. most of my evolution is on the inside. (or not; i often feel just as confused and hysterical -- freudian def. -- as i did four years ago.)

SHUA!!

i'd date this handmade dress to the 80s. styled it with miu miu suede ruffle and plastic heel pumps, backseam stockings. (in retrospect, should have rockabilly'd my coiffure.) what you can't see are the buttons that climb up the side slit, and the pleating of the gauze on the bust. also, the neat-o gradations of each polka dot. i don't do spots, but this is the exception. another exception: red black and white -- i find this combo a graphic cliche.


in terms of combos that resonate (for me), however, let's muse on the 1980s re-visioning of the 1950s. even though i kept my eyes pretty much squeezed shut during my childhood (shit was fucking ugly on so many levels) there was some stuff that charmed me the way a flying brick charms a shop window. off the top, i'm remembering:


1. the contours - do you love me (now that i can dance)
this song had a resurgence in popularity, thanks to the movie dirty dancing, which i have never seen.


2. stray cats - rock this town
i heard this song, and the one before it, thanks to a televised disney special that my parents dubbed. i watched this sequence ad nauseum while skittering around on the living room's parquet floor.

3. dick tracy / archie comics
i read the funnies whenever my parents got the tribune or sun-times. i do not remember which paper syndicated the dick tracy strip, but i certainly read that and brenda starr. the plot lines were over my head, but the illustration style involved super-glamorous exaggerated lines. archie comics were nowhere near my favorite, but i was voracious, and read everything, especially if there was an accompanying image.


4. the goodwill / salvation army
one of the most formative aspects of my childhood was shopping at secondhand stores. i never had anything new, and the only place we went for non-used items was the jewel grocery on narragansett. my mom was way into thrifty living, but i could have anything found at maxwell street or a garage sale. i remember pushing a cart down the rows of many a goodwill and piling it high with water-stiff velvets and hole'd tulle. i fitted all my clothes to myself with safety pins and quick stitches, and i loved full skirts. the thrift store, more than any other place, is where i learned to be discerning about fabric, seams, craft, and getting a good deal. this is still how i shop, although now i shop mostly at buffalo exchange and crossroads. the "segunda mano" on 21st is fairly scabrous, though i still find decent stuff there occasionally, and is the best place to look for garments that i plan to deconstruct.


5. hairspray
i do not use hairspray -- or any kind of product, actually -- on my hair, unless there is a theme night about to go down. however, i saw people around me, kids my own age, and adults, getting into a more made-up look. my parents were very 70s people, very natural, and i was brought up accordingly, but the girls on the bus had velcro rollers in their bangs until we arrived at school. they also played with makeup and plastic jewelry. still, i totally love big-curled hair, or a full set whenever i see it in a fashion spread.


6. americana
this is something that i feel quite unqualified to discuss, as it is an enormous subject and i don't intend to give it the proper treatment, being that i'm politically inarticulate and undereducated. i will venture, though, that the jingoism of the 1980s, under reagan, imparted a different feeling than a child of the 1970s or 1990s would have come up on. when you're a child, i might blandly say that the world is bright and optimistic, even as it is terrifying and uncertain, and this seemed to be especially true while watching Sesame Street and seeing Keith Haring imagery everywhere. nothing seems more american than boldness and a lack of sophistication. maybe i should also mention regressive conservativism, for while the 70s and 90s seemed to reach for something more radical or more aggressive (respectively) the 80s seemed to be about shoring up old values. i feel way out of my depth here, and anyone reading this is either frustrated by my ignorance and should maybe sit me down and school me, but i'm trying to remember how i felt between the ages of 0 and 6, not give a historically accurate account. maybe if you were a teen in the 80s, or my parents age (30s) it didn't feel nostalgic. there's just something so gross and gung-ho about faded, ripped denim and the american flag -- combined.

ew.

palate cleanser/bonus: my aunt jody in saddle shoes, cardi, and cuffed dungarees. dog named freckles.

(editor's note: i am wrong about nearly everything. "do you love me" came out in 1962. "dirty dancing" is set in the early 60s. the fashions in the disney edit are early 60s too....except for the saddle shoes. swing dance, however, Totally Is a 50s thing, as is Jive.)

ninja shoes

just found these alexander wang booties at buffalo exchange yersterday, and right then and there i switched out of by melissa X vivienne westwoods and into these bad boys. now i'm at oak st. beach, eating sushi on my lunch break and daring lake michigan to send a mean ol' wave my way.


i'm sure this is someone's idea of a fashion faux pas, wearing tights with sandal wedges, but i am too busy feeling/looking like a ninja to worry about that pettiness.


these will be showing up in the 'style otter/fashion eagle' collaboration.