curly fries and apple strudel

tonight i spent a quiet evening with my beautiful laura. we shared curly fries and played strange food related board games. and while i was gone, my love made homemade apple strudel. oh my i feel very lucky to have two such wonderful people around me.

an anniversary gift

thanks baby x

mine

one year with a dance at mighty, a first kiss outside nic-nacs, cold evenings of too clovey mulled wine, all the beards and then suddenly non-beards, one long summer and a winter of late night banoffee pie.

i'm yours. thank you for being mine x

the letter x

i found an entire alphabet to give you a kiss.

wallpaper

 the flocked wallpaper co-ordinate design in the 'my dear arthur' collection

i wrote...

An energetic pattern inspired by 1950s vintage print design.

Offset and elongated abstract shapes create a dynamic and lively design. A sense of the theatrical is explored with a play between the static shapes and the movement created through layering. The rich olive flock contrasts to the soft reddened navy and a tinted metallic pearl offers a subtle sophistication.

Add a sense of nostalgia, that’s rich, playful and warm!

my dear arthur

this has been my entire world all year. a lovely fabric inspired by arthur street in wellingtons central city. there have been many tears but i love it.

a screen-printed linen fabric with an all over complex repeat design (not that i will never forget those words).

a shopping list

the boy i love loves writing lists.

admiration

He uses 'forest green' from the tube and he doesn't give a fuck.




i've been reflecting on a self-portrait by an old friend. i think it's a really genuine portrait, moving, inspiring and a little uncomfortable to look at. the use of both colour and media is beautiful, unusual and challenging. how he mixed the paint? is unimportant. it took me six years to notice. so who does give a fuck.

a collection of words

somehow when i see this collection of words

pitter patter goes the rain

i adore you. the way you always arrive so unexpectedly. i love listening to you on the roof and trickling down the windows. with cold fingers in my pockets. you're a wonderful excuse for a pretty umbrella, gloves and a heavy wool coat.
with you, i love a warm cup of tea, a chocolate biscuit or two and quiet conversations about wet socks. and i want to thank you for the way you allow me to sleep in. late. oh so very late.

in half an inch

last friday i lost myself. i'd be loosing myself for sometime. i had forgotten all about taking evening walks. reading a book for enjoyment. celebrating little achievements. attending the birthday plans of old friends. sharing stories over a beer. having a quite coffee. resting. sleeping. laughing.
and so i want to say thank you. to everyone. i am grateful that it is you i have around me. even when i have been swallowed up. when i have not seen you for weeks. you are still there. and you are there again when i am found.

yes.

and here is a quote from Holly's pencil.


And yes I said yes I will Yes.


                                 - James Joyce

my love

i am writing you a letter in indian ink with a pen with a nib.

love x

in the evening

please come. and take me away with you.

to dance

i found this on a very beautiful blog. i needed to keep it somewhere. to put it in a safe place. so i can return to it again and again.

 
it is choreographed by bret easterling. the music is die alone by ingrid michaelson. the dancers are from julliard. i found it here http://or-so-i-feel.blogspot.com/

flight

 

i miss your face next to mine. drawing with my fingers on your skin. listening to the sound of you. breathing. mumbling. my legs all tangled around yours as you fall asleep first. and the warmth of you making me always a little too warm.

and two for tea

"Are you alone?"

-Do you mind if I pull down the curtain?

"Who do you think I'd be with?"

"That's the state I'm in. I'd like to be with you now."

Silence, then a sign and an answer. "I wish you were with me now."



from Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

grief

i am mourning. an entire city is suffering. there is an emptiness in the fallen bricks. missing people. quiet. and those found that will not share the hope still left. i know it is selfish for me to feel isolated in what has been endured. i wish i could help boil the water, sweep up the ceiling from the floor, light the lamps, comfort my little brother and find the cat. i can only give my love and a hug. over the telephone. i was not there. and i feel that.

here are some words.

I did not know what to say to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not how I could reach him, where I could overtake him and go hand in hand with him once more.

It is such a secret place, the land of tears.

from The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupery

jingle jangle morning

A beautiful piece of writing that looses me a little towards the end.

Skinless Love

Louise, pass the salt, please pass

the sun-our savory mornings.

On walks with the dog I'll bring you tied like
a kite to my wrist, your face bobbing in the moonlight.

I dream of you riding a giant spider.

You are all dangle, darling and weightless.

Reel me in tied to your mouth (silk-spin),

your secret glands sticky with waiting.

Save me for later like a peppermint,

I'll nap under your tongue, lick your furry palate.

Who needs breasts, eyebrows, or white platelets?

I think devotion is like this:

skinned of art

a bodiless mingling.

Beyond your cotton-stuffed limbs and nylon slacks,

your greasy cells buttered in wax.

We love beyond all these drippings,

a love that lasts.



from Fields, Ribbons, Folds: Somatic Landscapes for Zaha Hadid by Hadara bar-Nada

a matter of taste

lots of things are different. heavier. lighter. more or less meaningful. there are more tears. deeper breaths. blowed raspberry giggles. tickles. and laughter... and a sore face from smiling so much. things taste different. sweeter. maybe a little salty.