queste storie d'inchiostro stessi

quando ho amore per te, c'è un sacco di esso

ginger and chocolate covered

been absent for a couple of posts and as usual i am
attempting to play catch up with the last few days.

i spent a lovely couple of days in san francisco as part of my
annual holiday trip to the left coast and discovered some
real gems with the help of my long time friend, erika.
as a result, i am now full on a burmese food obsession and
have been reinspired to make things, including food, drink and
bits to drape around oneself in various forms.

i will be back to new york in a couple days and moving into my
new, drenched with sunlight, brooklyn apartment. very much
anticipating this and i have lots of interior ideas that will pass
through here.

meanwhile, i will be chilling with my dog, eating my fathers
fantastic persian/armenian food and my mums biscotti and taking
in some sunshine on my birthday.
enjoy the holidays.

naked thoughts

i have been a long time fan of VPL and victoria bartlett.
i had the wonderful opportunity to work briefly at VPL a few years
ago and i fondly remember it. the day i spent working directly with
victoria was a day that i learned more about the industry then i did
in all of my internship years before.

the human anatomy became the main inspiration behind my
design work when i was in my third year at university in italy.
for me, it was only the obvious choice being that my father is
a bone doctor and i was always fascinated by blood, cuts and medical
instruments. in his honor, i constructed a kimono like robe with the nervous,
respiratory, digestive and circulatory systems embroidered all over it.
it was certainly a labour of love. for now my creations have been
distilled to the human heart valentines i make annually.
its so inspiring to see how VPL has explored this influence and i really
do hope this exhibit makes a debut in new york.
check out my fawning over VPL at SCOUT.
video by dopolavoro gallery, milan.

shat merci

i wanted to convey my gratitude to those that have been so supportive
of me and all my pursuits in this year. encouraged me to be free and
creative and work hard and just keep on keeping on. it has been a wild,
overwhelming, challenging, fruitful and wanderlustful year. i still cannot
even comprehend all i have experienced. but i know now, there is no way back.

to all the beautiful and inspiring people i have met,
i am the luckiest to know you. all of you that have loved and
supported me, tirelessly. and inspired me more than you may ever know.

i look forward and welcome the travels, tears, challenges, influences,
laughs, memories and love.
shat shat merci.
sirov,
anushka dgan.

its on the walls

there have been two major fashion awards/prize/money contests as
of late and i felt compelled to make a comment about it after reading
this today on the nytimes blog the moment.

"The down-to-the-wire decision by the jury, which included members
like Andrew Bolton and Isabel Toledo, was a difficult one, but in the end
a jury source revealed that Wang’s cool commercialism had won the day
over Peter Pilotto’s intricate artistry, which had the second highest
number of votes." the moment on Alexander Wang winning the
Swiss Textile 100,000 euro prize

the day that 'cool commercialism' (what does this exactly mean?)
wins over 'intricate artistry' is a sad one. maybe i could be considered
biased as i do have a special love for Peter Pilotto's work (i'm wearing
a piece by the design team right now) but i feel this statement is simply
the writing on the wall of what is wrong with fashion. yes, i fully understand
pieces must sell and that fashion is business and not art but what about
providing an amazing platform to a young and not as financially secure label.
i am sure Alexander Wang will be able to use this prize to his benefit and
it will most likely help him diversify his fabrics from the usual denim, leather
and jersey that have become part of his signature, but my god, dude is already
so well off! to think what Peter and Christopher (or others well deserving
of the prize, Ohne Titel for one), who are truly innovators in their fabric
approach, could have done with the well needed money?

i was quite 'public' with my personal pick for winner of the CFDA/Vogue
Fashion Fund prize this year. (see my blog entry for Scout here) and
was more than disappointed to hear that Ohne Titel was not awarded
with the cash. Yes, winner Sophie Theallet makes beautiful, totally
well crafted clothing and she has a hefty amount of respectable
experience under Jean Paul Gaultier and Azzedine Alaia. She is
unarguably deserving of her win but again why not award true creativity
and fashion innovation instead of perfect wrap dresses? Ohne Titel
soars in their craft, handwork and completely creative approach to dressing.

is this the way American Fashion goes? or the whole fashion world?
everyone is wondering during fashion week why everything looks the same
especially in New York, but young talented designers get the shaft every
chance there is money up for grabs. we still sit here and wonder how
we could loop a majority of NY shows together in one non stop stream of
video footage because there is next to no difference between many designers.

support independent designers, enough said.

a memory of the smell of smoke

i have this thing that i always do...
enter these contests to win trips to wonderful getaways,
like barcelona and paris.
the entry forms usually include a bit to offer your own quip
of the city and why you want to visit it.
i always take a decent amount of time and conjure up something
completely over the top about the locale and my recent
bit for the YSL parisienne contest was no different,
actually, i deem this one the most blown up yet...
i think its quite funny.
it started from my entry last year for a flavorpill trip to paris
(which i did not win)

the pale lights and mysterious darkness of Paris cast a
glow and haze over its sights. The ambiguity of both the
soft sparkle and shadow, high and low of everyday Parisian
life inspire my work in photography and painting. From the cafes
to the catacombs, I aspire to explore the light, dark and all the
rooftop shades of grey in between. Paris leaves its lovers with
a glint in their eye and a melancholy in their hearts. I'd like to be
one of them and take my journey to inform my creative palate.

now for the YSL Parisienne bit...


Soft Sparkle and Shadow, the Fragrant Air of a Charmed Life

The pale lights and mysterious darkness of Paris cast a
glow and haze over its sights. The ambiguity of both the
soft sparkle and shadow, high and low of everyday inspire the
Vie Parisienne. From the cafes to the catacombs, there is a light,
dark and all the rooftop shades of grey in between. Paris leaves its
lovers with a glint in their eye and a melancholy in their hearts,
a never-ending longing for the city of light and spirit.

Every time I leave Paris and travel to other cities, I can feel the
essence trail behind me. I have sat in cafes in Prague, looked out
rooftop windows in New York and walked quiet winding streets in
Sevilla and felt the lingering air of Paris. It is as if the zephyr Parisienne
has flowed and followed me in every locale since my last stop within
its walls. This current forms a constant aroma that embodies and invites
all in its path, but is forever Parisienne.

The spirit of Parisienne is like an old suitcase for a truly chic lady traveler.
The make is of no concern, it is beautifully crafted of dusty worn leather
and has stamps from its exotic destinations, some a bit faded, while others
are barely visible. You see it has made loops around this world, but holds its
true refinement so steady. It has a classic origin, a history, a charm, but is a
persuasive individual of its own. I take this suitcase, this experience around
the world with me and place it at my doorstep upon my return to my own
city of New York, where the experience Parisienne also lies.

There is a jazz bar in Brooklyn I go to on weeknights. I can sit and
have an aperitif and watch the smoky shadows of its mysterious interior.
I can tap my Tribute heel to a beguiling rhythm and the room melts into
the one I was once in St. Germain. A beaten bar beneath the street,
one you would never find, but you are inexplicably led to by chance.
A night of dancing and vin rouge, an evening so unforgettable and
one you blissfully remember with such simplicity.

Seated in front of a steamy cafe au lait at Balthazar in Soho in the
early morning winter copper haze. The place is nearly empty save
for an early bird businessman and maybe some writers of sorts. It is easy
to slip into this moment and enjoy the soft sights in the antiqued mirrors.
It is effortless to lose yourself and look through the glass and set your eyes
on a calm morning in Le Marais.

The experience Parisienne is busy with the beat, loving and longing, a fragrant
air that twirls a charmed life together.

what the end feels like

silence by pj harvey

the things we say to strangers

i found myself going on tonight, wildly, with very little encouragement
from the start about my trip.
saying things to this person i have known for five minutes,
things i have never told anyone. even myself.
it seems to all make sense as it departs from my mouth.
i am forming my thoughts in my mouth and
they are just taking this winded crazed flight.
but its deeper than that, they are imprinted somewhere on my heart.
now is just the time to read these maps.
i don't even think about these words or conceive them,
they do the work themselves. they are so raw,
they don't even have the moment to become contrived and dishonest.
waving my hands in the air and pushing down my bangs.
like bangs i had when i was six and my mother would take me
to get a balloon and a braid.
i wanted to get bangs to hide behind. i thought i needed
a shield for my return to new york.
because the last five months had been full of exposure.
i can't believe i hopped around like i did.
that i let the wind carry me.
that i was able to be effortless.
and full of lightness.
i used to be shy.

encouragement came from my listener.
it felt good to go on. i guess i haven't been able to since i have returned.
i felt so humbled when she called me an inspiration.
it just was what i was suppose to do and like D told me,
'you allowed yourself to move and be moved by life'
but aren't we all?
i was just paying attention and following the path placed in front of me.
i didn't think i had any other choice.

i wanted to be terrified.
that seems so strange to admit.
i wanted to see what i could accomplish alone.
i wanted to be uncomfortable and see what i was made of.

i told my listener, that i didn't know if i could travel with other people now.
that i dream of going to egypt. to india. to iran.
that i am planning a new trip already.
about the exact moment when i decided i had to leave new york.

i was wooing them in now.
my excitement was like a disease.
i wished for them to go and get on the plane.
what has gotten into me?
i felt like i was on the ceiling, watching a video of myself
enticing everyone to act with utter wanderlust.

today, i was thinking about the women i worked with in armenia.
how i cried when i was leaving them. how they moved me.
and how i had no idea that i moved them until the moment i was leaving.

wearing fresh and crying blood

it has never been my style to post photos of myself on le futur possible.
but, somehow i am avoiding looking at the camera in this particular picture.
nonetheless, i am really happy with my work on my halloween headdress
and i knew there would be some viewers out there who would appreciate it.
i spray painted some glow in the dark stars gold and strung them on to this
double headband fixture that i made. the lilies (the symbol of purity in
the aforementioned religious paintings) are fresh and i looped them into
the headband. (they smelled so beautiful all night long!)
i want to start wearing fresh flowers daily!
i made some necklaces by deconstructing some prayer bracelets and strung
them on to white chiffon. i made a little white leather vest and a dress with
pearl gray silk. somehow it all came together and i accomplished my nights
goal of drinking quite a bit and dancing in my flowing gown.

as she talks, her lips breath spring roses

during my trip, i became fascinated with religious painting.
from madrid to armenia to italy and my last days in barcelona,
i was seeking them out in museums.
i finally made it to the Uffizi gallery in Florence with my lovely guide,
Caterina, my favourite Fiorentina and among the gems on the walls
we viewed that day, this painting, Primavera by Botticelli really struck me.
i especially loved this detail, where Zephyrus, the god of winds, is in
pursuit of the nymph Chloris and she has vines and flowers coming out
of her mouth toward her Roman counterpart, Flora, the goddess of spring.
i remembered this Jean Paul Gaultier Spring 2007 Couture show and
pulled a few images to get me thinking about halloween.
jean paul gaultier spring 2007 couture
botticelli, primavera

the frame over running water

i rediscovered this album and have been listening to it on my windy walks
downtown from west chelsea along tenth avenue,
it seems completely suited for these pre-cold fall days
if you do not own this, i highly suggest you become enlightened
you will never hear or listen to sounds and music the same way

kyle in colour

its autumn in brooklyn

hot apple floor

well, i guess it is high time i admit what happened with the pie contest.
i gathered all my needs to make this baby and this is what came out
of the oven. i put oven mittens on to carry it out of my pals apartment.
K and i are walking down the stairs and he is says 'oh dude, i am afraid
i am going to drop mine' (he made a delicious pomegranate infused apple pie).
with his words still hanging in the air, i fall down the stairs.
with the pie.
my feet totally flew up in the air and with me, the pie.
it was completely inverted on floor of the entrance of the building,
with hot apples everywhere.
it was obscene.
me and apples flying up in the air.

i tried to patch it up and shove the apples back into the crust, but it was no use.
it was wrecked and i was too proud to bring a smashed pie to the contest.
i ate some of the crushed dessert and it was quite good and i was real sad.

we still went to the contest. K never dropped his.
it was horrible but kind of amazing and funny, as well.
we had a really good laugh about it all.

i will have to wait til next year to gather those highest honors.

in all my attempts

today, i left the room early to go sleep on the beach.

i was on the only one for a while, chilly in the cardigan i slept in.

it turned to shine and i left it all in a pile on the sand.

when can i have these waves again

drift like a fall

how can i bring lightness with me

back among my broken belongings

i wake up and will be here

those faces, they remember

this face i'd seen so many times

sat across from and shared with

watching emilia, she is always thinking

her hair back in braids, whitened now

she is mostly quiet but always thinking

i try to convey how my time spent with her those six years ago was so influential to me

i hope i did somehow

i attempt to explain in broken italian how i was nostalgic for her fig jam

and i made my version in her honor and now i make it every autumn

people here, remember me when they see me

that is a strange feeling

that they remember when they see me, until they see me they have forgotten

light that fades wool

i like to ride the slow autobus, when i need to think and if i'm not running too late.
i got on this morning, we started to roll and
a character tapped the tin of the back of the vehicle.
he got on and hopped in the seat welded to the hump about the wheel,
his reflections motions of the movement
i watched him as he talked with his hands,
his peach shirt like the fruits they have been picking as of late, its the season
his face aged and tan, the sunlight through the stale curtains warmed the back of my neck,
i could feel the colour coming up
the light made a window pane pattern on his trousers and
i noticed there was a hole burned through by a cigarette
i could see him, hand talking wildly and the accident happening and
him having a wild laugh about it
he wore them so proudly, you could tell they had ages on them
he shouted up to the driver his desired destination
and nearly catapulted himself out of his welded seat and
hung to the hand rails like a monkey on jungle limbs
when the autobus paused, i didn't see him make his exit
my view somehow was obstructed, by what i don't remember
but we started again and i heard the tap on the tin,
maybe he didn't want us to forget him and i won't

please.mr.postman

a new volunteer came up to gyumri and to my greatest surprise handed me a couple

thoughtful letters and postcards that had arrived in yerevan, bearing my name.

my grandest gratitude. you guys made my week.

trains over planes

i knew it was time to leave Spain because i found myself getting

annoyed by how loud everyone was talking and how they formed a

massive clot in front of the check in desk.

i can't stand air travel. i'd rather travel four days and nights on

a train than two hours by plane.

noone was picky on the flight, they all devoured the awful sandwiches

they handed out- i didn't like that and found myself getting irritated with

the idea. maybe i was just overly looking forward to my lunch full of summer

cucumbers and pine nuts. i made a salad for myself last night,

something exactly like my father would do and i liked that.

i was able to read so i take this flight for that and made progress in my

new book, unlike i have been able to for the past few weeks.

i don't feel the winter warmth i felt last time with my arrival here in prague.

when you don't or can't leave the airport grounds you feel stuck and have

the sense that you could be anywhere.

the last time i arrived, Z was waiting for me in a room in an old chapel,

ready and waiting in winter boots with our sites and plans. i so fondly

remember this meeting and we always laugh when we tell the story.

the last time for someone over czech beer. our listener was amused

and found us emotional and wonderful in the endearing way we were.

we stammered on the crosswalk. when it was time to walk we keep up.

on and on. i have always loved that about us. stopped at crosswalks

when its time to walk. we have uncovered a great many mysteries in

these moments. and laughed at passengers in passing cars that give

us a view of the past in their front window frame. he urged us to move

forward and we remembered him and reeled him back into our web of

that moments vitality. he was smiling and i knew he felt easy.

his nervousness gone. a little drunk but calm and sure in that moment.

i wished to lay my hand on his face. sew my fingers to his clean jaw.

i was pleased to see him like this. he is at his best. and the week had

been difficult in ways i couldn't say then because i couldn't think.

for a long time i have been unable to uncover why i couldn't say it all.

the intensity shattered my thoughts. today i read...

'sometimes we reveal the most when we are least like ourselves...

you are like me, wishing for the perfect moment, but nothing too long

imagined can be perfect in a worldly way. neither one of us can say

just the right thing. we are overwhelmed.'

on the next plane. and i'm not sure if i'm actually prepared.

i'm reading and writing on the bag allocated for vomiting.

what am i doing, i just couldn't find anything else to write on. but had to.

czech airline tv is showing this crazy animal that is related to the

stegosaurus. this is the coolest animal i have ever seen, beside the leopard cat.

its elephant, zebra, small horse and bear all in one. it swims too.

why have i not seen this before? and what is it doing on czech airline tv?

and then surfing on tv. what i've give to be on a wave right now?

its like this preprogrammed airplane tv is playing my thoughts before i think them.

we land. euros for drams. get the visa. woah, i gotta get a police man hat.

in line for the stamp and the pass through. i'm too tired for this, its four am.

i don't know exactly what they are telling me but i get a few words and i know

the look of the temper. oh, this i've learned well. he doesn't like that i have an

armenian name and look armenian and can't say much in armenian.

he is saying some things and i know they aren't complements.

i grab the passport and know the most important lesson on my trip will need to

used in full effect in this moment.

i smile big, even though i'm exhausted and pretty sure i'm going to cry and

say thank you very much. in armenian.

this is arriving.

i am here to learn to live with lightness

i sit in the cafes long enough to see its many faces of the day-

a traveler to consume cakes and coffees, to study the population

with this simple act.

it writes a book of truth, at day break it concludes and we will

rip out the pages.

i used to get scared and anxious when the seats at the cafes

and bars would fill up with couples and triples and foursomes of

people and parties and i would be the sole inhibitor of my place setting.

but that feeling has escaped me and now i only notice it as the natural

traffic of space, time and people.

some stay only a few moments, to regain their days and leave with

their glasses a sip full,

others linger longer, making a day of their drink.

i find myself in places and i find places in myself

that i know i'll long for, to come back to

i envision my return over and over

the comfort i feel is so automatic, i swear i've known this city

unlike any other i have visited in my travels so far.

i think there is a time and place for all my outlets and creations

i wish to delve upon. i feel them all inside of me, but they only

let themselves escape at certain moments.

i must be patient and learn to know when it is a flight of fancy

or a proper signal.

at this moment words flow easily out of my heart, head and hand

its though i barely think about them, they simply have a way

with themselves and i loosely coax and cradle them, but

they continue to their preferred shapes and compositions.

its as though every thought and feeling i attempt to render

pours through me.

its nearly uncontrollable. its strange to me actually, i'm only a vessel

and its as i could write with the inspiration of any vision that enters

my field of senses

i feel its my purpose and its meant to be so easy and fluid.

my lids can't hold themselves up and if i noticed a feather falling from

the flight of the sky, i'd try to grasp it and curl myself on its wispy limbs

for a small siesta.

like i am drunk but have not ingested anything with hinderance.

maybe my vision is blurred by the galao and portuguese cakes,

which i find superior to all those i have sampled thus far in my city search.

i must learn to write with other emotions beside intrigue and wonderment,

i don't want to bore my reader.

i have friends at home in nyc and they look at situations and see the

impossibilities form before their eyes.

i am not casting criticism, as i know that view, i have felt its weight and

its creation of tightly braided tensions.

but it amazes me and makes me wonder because my field of vision

yields something so different as if so much possibility is provided,

i can't decide my colour to pick or path to tread, they all appeal

in their own shimmering ways-

visions of shimmering possibilities.

i think my path will take many turns and each bender before the next

prepares me with strength and honesty for what follows suit.

i am able to write here so quickly and with fluid motions, but i've been

able to write many places thus far...

i aspire to journey with an open mind and find inspiration in all that i see,

whether i'm pleased by it or not.

i am here to learn to live with lightness.

vermillion ties

on the morning walk, i happened upon a lonely patch of
vermillion poppies

i looked both ways, picked on and tied it up in my unruly hair

maybe it would add a bit of complement to my newly acquired
cocoa freckles and lavender rosewater oiled curls and salt sea stains

i tie up the young tomato plants that are starting to offer flowers

to the stakes to afford them strength against the levante

i tie them with strips of orange tshirt and i love how they look
adhered to the bamboo with loops and bows