Dream Roomspiration: Warhol

The point of art is to be seen... true art needs no introduction and can be visually representative without saying a thing about value. Here’s an artist whose work can transform any dream room...

Dream Roomspiration: Warhol

Would you add a little Warhol pop when you decorate?

Barbie would!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

In Fashion

Fashion roadkill or fashionably discarded? How about being fashionably woke? Telling the same story as someone else won’t necessarily make your version better... try telling your own story and let others enjoy it. 

Here’s something about fashion... 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Murder on the Runway

(7-9-2009)

Murder on the Runway.

Yvette & Cosette hobble out onto the runway. The unnatural pair of Siamese twin descend the cat walk and move forward in a seesaw walk that was neither fierce nor provocative. Both sewn into one garment – conjoined at the hip. Neither of these novice divas willing to give up a star spot in a Nigel Rockford show. Uncertain of the world they have entered, but knowing that it will change their lives forever.

Designer Nigel Rockford: “I wanted circus freak meets Russian doll via the Orient Express…”, and the interview went on and on. “I’ve brought two Scandinavian beauties to model my new collection. These fabulous dolls will be my next stars! My show will be the most extravagant thing anyone has seen all year!”  This designer extraordinaire was trying to be the next avant-garde visionary ala Alexander McQueen. As if. This interview would be his undoing. 

Show begins. One by one the models walk out, stop, spin, and walk back. Clomp, clomp, stamp, stamp. Strut. Fierce. Arms on hips. Work it for the crowd. As each goes out, the mood gets bitchier and cattier. Katarina making her pass throws elbows hitting Lexa in the chest and nearly tossing her to the ground before the crowd. Nina prancing out as brilliant as ever, is taken out by the errant feet work of another diva. Down on the platform! Fashion Roadkill! At this show the models are moving forward in rapid succession with the intent to do damage; walking down the runway fiercely stepping on Nina with the purpose to aim and trample. The first steps directly on her hand – Broken! The second on her face – Ouch! Third, well she nearly trips and kicks Nina in the ribs for the near-miss faux pas. Nina eventually slinks off the runway with a broken nose bleeding profusely on Nigel’s Japanese silk, crème colored creation and leaving a trail of blood along the way. Red meets pristine white, illuminated, on display for all to see. It’s smearing as the other girls take no notice and keep on strutting through it. Nigel is flabbergasted, yelling and throwing furs backstage. How dare these bitches ruin his show? 

What set these beautiful (and deadly) creatures off? The coveted spot! The piece de résistance, Nigel promised each and every one of the models the prized slot - the finale. Being the fickle yet fabulous Nigel Rockford, he’d recruited two unusual and unheard of beauties instead of using the ‘already seen that’ standard. Yvette and Cosette silly creatures, foreign to the scene, delicate, and completely oblivious; the pair never saw the ambush coming. The day he posted the clothing assignment, a devastating blow was dealt. Two very public, high profile models attempted suicide that day, each believing her career to be over since Nigel had chosen fresh faces. The pair was replaced immediately without hesitation. Nigel shrugged it off as typical catty drama. “You know what. I’m actually glad those prima donnas are out of the way! There should be no bitterness at my show. I wish those ladies the best of health and a speedy recovery.” Yes. Those were his comments to the press. How very? Indeed!

As the first model hits the backstage and the curtain falls, the fight begins. Models start removing hair and shoes. Each diva figuring that one less competitor would lower the odds to gaining the desired spot. One goes down after a hand mirror pegs between her eyes, scattering shards of glass across her face. Another model grabs and pulls the hair of another, proceeding to drag her down a staircase and then shoving the young woman down the remaining steps. Hair extensions are being ripped out, pulling out bloody clumps of hair directly from the scalp and tossed aside. Its wrestling meets Haute Couturé. Unreal, but ever so entertaining! Flat irons being used to singe the skin off faces. 

A model starved to the verge of insanity was typically the most dramatic headline you’d see in a newspaper these days regarding the industry. Not any more. DEATH BY MANOLO BLAHNIK might sound a bit more appropriate after this show. 

Brawling ensues. Heels, jewelry and handbags all being used as weapons. There are a thousand tiny pink feathers in the air floating down into a sea of women tearing into each other. Not a pretty sight. Clothing is flying about. Half of Nigel’s collection on the floor covered in blood. Each new model heading backstage is thrust into this pit of unequivocal carnage. Nigel is still trying to maintain a show. On his side of the stage, models are being thrown into clothes and shoved out and down the runway. No one wants to go out anymore. Those who are left know too well what awaits them on the other side of the stage. 

Nigel so desperate to gain back control of his show, he arranges for assistance. Knowing that the impending scandal was far too reprehensible to live down he attempts to bring in security. Security, HA! It really should have been the SWAT team. Typically large men should be able to take down a toothpick of a woman. Unfortunately when you have 50, crazed and beyond recognition, it becomes complicated. Two security officers entered and were instantly devoured in the sea of women. Scope rifle, anyone? 

In a sense Yvette and Cosette were lame sitting ducks, unaware of the doom that awaits them. Sequestered away from the common girls; Nigel’s prized dolls. No one was allowed to speak with them before, after or during the show. There would be no chance of the madness outside entering into that crystal ball dressing room. The room that was custom crafted from the finest crystal in the world especially for the twins. Orders from the Queen supreme herself couldn’t penetrate the perimeter. One minute until destruction, ahem, Showtime. 

The two-headed monster wobbles down the runway, clop-clop, stomp-stomp. There’s a hush over the crowd. Actually Nigel’s last piece is quite breath-taking. It really was a masterpiece. Such a shame. The girls walk out and it seems as though time has stopped. World Peace is possible. There’s a cure for Cancer. Flying Stiletto at 3 o’clock makes contact with the left temple piercing skin, meeting skull and incapacitating with its menacing intention. Razor sharp weapon. Yvette is going down like a sinking ship. Cosette tumbles with her. Bodies on the runway in a fashion. Crowd gasping and someone screams, “She’s DEAD!” Yvette’s eyes have rolled back into her head. Cosette is chained to her corpse twin unable to function and run without the life of her other half. Art imitates life. If one should die then so shall the other? The stampede ensues. People have begun to flee the show. Bloody, half dressed and mangled women pour out from backstage onto the catwalk towards poor helpless Cosette. The horde devours Nigel without effort. He’s been trampled to death by his own creation. 

Poor little Cosette. There was no time to escape. A frenzy of grabbing hands and kicking feet swarms forward at the girl enveloping her within. The small creature never emerges from the mob. Pieces of the fabric can be seen in the clutches of the depraved women. Eventually there are body parts coming out of the horde. Soon enough it becomes clear that there is no more of little Cosette and the pack begins to cannibalize upon itself. The models continue to rip each other to shreds. One might assume this was truly a moment in the wild, where a pack of animals has initiated an all out assault on another. Only the strong shall survive. 

The aftermath of war leaves the battlefield strewn with the bodies of wounded soldiers. The Showhouse has seen the better of days. Today’s unfortunate fashion civil war has left the once immaculate House of Rockford in shambles. The arms, legs and other remaining pieces of these once beautiful creatures are strewn across the blanket of red covering the floor. The lights illuminate and intensify the crimson effect on the catwalk. It pops. Jumps out. Screams, “Buy me!” It was to be the shining moment when the world would finally recognize the Nigel Rockford brand. Nigel was right about one thing, people would definitely stand-up and take notice. Well, no one would ever forget this show. Especially after all the bodies were found how could anyone possibly forget that? Definitely the “most extravagant” anyone had seen this year.

Dream Roomspiration: Home is where the art is

Home is where the art is...or rather where we hang it.  Barbie often collects and receives art. Sometimes she finds that it’s not the right fit for her collection so she gives it away.... for art beautifies any room and must be shared not hoarded away.

Dream Roomspiration: Home is where the art is

Do you have art in your home?

Barbie hopes so.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Time Travel with Andy Warhol: Contact Sheets

Took the time machine to The Factory to see Andy Warhol...

Andy was looking at contact sheets of himself eating a bowl of Corn Flakes when I arrived.

“Moni, do you like them? Corn Flakes?

Shaking my head, before I could answer Andy interjects.

“Of course you don’t, I like boring things. Well since you’re here, help yourself to a glass of champagne while I work. I have to work. I’ve got a lot of mouths to feed. Someone has to bring home the bacon.” 

As I start to sip the champagne, he asks “How do you feel about bacon?”

Stories

Of course you can tell the same story a thousand different ways... but why would you want to tell someone else’s story when you can tell your own? I prefer to hear people’s own stories instead of them replicating anothers tale.

Love yourself enough to write & live your own story. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

When…

(11-4-11)

“When the music used to play…” he tells me in the sweet drawl of a voice that reminds me of being a little girl sitting under the lemon tree listening to his yarn. And just like then my grandpa pauses for a moment so I can ask the question that sets at the front of my mind. Because he knows I have a question. 

“Tell me about the music and how it used to play,” I tell him with a smile. It’s the same bright wide-eyed smile that only the inner child can produce from true sincerity. That inner child is something we never lose, some people simply forget that it’s there waiting to be released. 

“Well then, let me tell you about the music.” he says before telling me the story. 

Now a story from my grandpa was always a surprise to be sure. Sometimes wasn’t what I expected to hear but it ended up being what I needed to hear. There are some men in this world that some might call a prophet for the knowledge they possess and share is true. When these men speak that truth they tell it with the hope that others will soon discover the truth for themselves. I like to believe my granddad was something of a prophet for all those things he used to share with me always made sense in their own way at some later time.  

“And how it played on and on so very long ago.”

When the music played the good old boys in the band always sparked up the same way. It lifted their spirits and took their melodies soaring to new heights. Yet it was the same ol song no matter how they played it. And sadly it was the only thing they could muster the courage to play. It was the only one they knew. The only one he taught them to play. 

Reese De La Beautran was an interesting fellow. He had the gift of music from an early age. Earlier than most folks but later than others. He wasn’t a prodigy by any means. None in the least. But something happened when that boy picked up the violin. Magic and the movement of the soul. Reese couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but the people all around him seemed to come alive when he played. And that made his heart soar. It lifted and grew to new levels of joy within to see others happy. And it was by something so small that he could gift to them. As he could put no price on the value of their joy. 

Joy and happiness followed Reese wherever he went. It wasn’t something that he’d often thought twice about. His luck was something of a gift and whomever he was in league with benefited from that good fortune as well. It was something of a knack, his sweet music and so he went along playing it. Took his song with him to every city and every town. 

Now Reese was a happy type of fellow but like any other man he fell upon bad times once and again. Yet it wasn’t like other men when he did. Something about Reese went directly hand and hand with his music. Some might say that it was a blessing to be able to put your emotions into the work. Other simply called it curse. Mostly on account of what happened. 

And there are many accounts of what happened… it could only happen that way once. 

It was a show out in the middle of a tiny poke of a town, not much bigger than a dot on the map. Something was in the air that night. The folks that were there that night said it was like a hand crawling up your spine. The energy in the crowd was mighty strange. They didn’t know whether to enjoy the show or give into that odd sensation that had come upon them.

See, on that night before the band started up there had been a bit of misfortune. Reese learned about the passing of his mother. It wasn’t what one might call a simple passing. It was one of great pain and suffering. To talk about the pain won’t help you understand only know that what was told to Reese went without question as a nightmare come to life. The man wrestled with his thoughts, his wits and his own personal character before summoning the courage to walk out on that stage. 

But in the end all the wrestling couldn’t stop Reese from giving a performance. A show that some might have called the performance of a lifetime as it was purely driven from his soul. Others say something wicked took hold of that man when he stood out there playing his song that night. For what happened in the crowd was something unforeseen. 

When the band played it wasn’t the same. Reese called upon a new song that he’d been deep in thought about. When he told the boys “play it by ear” they knew it wasn’t the some old song they’d done before. Well the people took it in sweet somber, just like the same melodies they’d known. Starting out slow and crawling up their spines. Nice and slow it went. Richer, deeper and a bit of melancholy for flavor went the new melody. With every beat the crowd grew intoxicated by the rhythm. Some danced. Some cried with joy. Some laughed. Some made no sound at all. 

You see listening to someone’s song is an intimate experience. And on this night people where taking in a part of that man’s soul. Much like a painting captures the soul, a single note music heard carries a piece of that musician’s soul. And when Reese poured his soul into his craft on this occasion it surely changed the way a man takes a hold of another man’s music. For the melody shifted into a faster frenzy just as Reese transformed the sound something about the crowd shift.  

Much to people’s dismay there wasn’t not much anything that could be done.

One by one the silent people began to collapse without rhyme or reason. Tears moved to hysterics. Laughter became screams. Dancing became feverish.  And many stayed on listening without affection other than a foot tap or hand clap. Yet all involved were entranced by the song. A song that kept them facing onward. Reese curiously watched as both joy and pain wrapped into an interesting combination before him. An unusual spectacle to be sure of. Every person in the audience ensnared in the final moments of chaos. 

The band loved every note of it. Like a hungry animal they ate at every inch of direction he led. Nearly exhausted Reese kept the band moving upward and onward with the sound anticipating what would come next. The climax. 

Without a doubt it came. And Reese came down with it when it came. The end of the music and along with it came both applause and screams. It was as though they had awoken from a trance. The man saw his masterpiece equally as a curse. He saw the aftermath. The bodies of the unconscious strewn out among the happy and sad filled his heart with a small sadness. Even as he listened to the band weep behind him, begging for more he knew that this was it. Deep down from the grief he felt inside for his mother, Reese knew that there would be no more like that song. A song that he’d never forget but would tear at his soul. 

“And now when the band plays… they play the same ol song. It just never sounds the same way twice. But it’s sure enough the same.”

“It’s not the same if it’s different?”

“How can you be sure?” 

“I can’t. I guess I will know when I do.”

“And you’ll know when the band plays…”