It all began at the Sugar Shack

Ravena got me thinking about race and art the other day when she mentioned wanting at least some art in her home by African American artists. One piece, in particular, she had had her eye on for a while was Sugar Shack by Ernie Barnes.



I was unfamiliar with this particular piece, so I felt compelled to hit up Google and see what I could find out. Turns out his style is neo-mannerist, a term I'd never heard of until Google further enlightened me. The elongated limbs and fluidity in the work reminded me of the illustration on the cover of the children's book, Salt In His Shoes, and it seems the illustrator, Kadir Nelson (Abikanile's Prayer below), is also a student of the same movement.





I hadn't really ever given much thought to the artists I like and what their race is, so it was definitely a challenge to search for new artists with race/ethnicity as my first criteria. I can't decide if not factoring this in is a luxury just given my own race or ignorance on my part.

Anyway, back to the fact that Google was not helpful. Typing in "African American art", "art by African Americans", "black art", etc. proved extremely limiting. I am very much a believer in that your history, culture and life shape your art. However, I refused to believe that art by an entire population of people falls into a few narrow categories*.

I should admit now that my second criteria was that the art also had to appeal to me. Would I put it on my wall or in my house? You can rest assured that I would display anything I've included here.

Right when I was about to get frustrated with Google I came across the work of Jacob Lawrence and mixed media artists Romare Bearden and Radcliffe Bailey (respectively below).








If you remember all my yammering about Lisa Congdon, you'll know I'm a big fan of collage pieces.

I was still struggling though. I wanted cutting edge, even more contemporary, so I headed to Etsy to see what they had to offer up. If I thought Google was bad, Etsy plum near terrified me. Such.horrible.pieces. The great thing about Etsy is that magnificent might just be a click away. Patience is how I stumbled on Atlanta artist Shadra Strickland.

My luck held out, and I discovered these beautiful pieces by Tabitha Bianca Brown.

Honestly, my real break came when I discovered the article, Race issue a two-edged sword for black contemporary artists, by Blake Gopnik. While these pieces aren't really ownable unless you happen to be seriously wealthy or a museum, I wanted to hop on my chair and shout "yes! yes!" when I saw them.

Glenn Ligon (unknown, Excerpt, No Room #36)






Kara Walker








Lorna Simpson




Yinka Shonibare




Each of these artists deserves their own post and discussion of how brilliant they are, but for now, I think I'll just stop here and see where the discussion goes.

**All images pulled from corresponding artist's website.**

*I need to debate this out with my group of folks because I kind of want to explore this a bit further.

Everybody cares about something

What do YOU CARE about, and what are you DOING about IT?

I've heard murmurs of this campaign for at least a couple of months now, but thanks to Allister Ann for passing along the link to the video.

Falling Whistles

Headed to Hampden

I made the trek up to Hampden, a Baltimore neighborhood off of Falls Road, yesterday to meet with two graffiti artists about my project. Yes, you read that correctly! I met a great local artist and studio owner who was willing to put out feelers for me.

I was super nervous because I am not good at meeting new people. I think the fact that they were artists made it worse because I have the tendency to view artists a bit like superheros. Anyway, the nerves were for not because these were two of nicest and talented guys. I'm really excited to be able to work with them and think they are going to add an amazing edge to my project.



Cafe Hon in Hampden where you expect to see John Waters walk in the door at any moment.

I don't want to talk about it too much on here because it's work-related, but one of the great things* about working on a stimulus-funded project is that, despite the political flack that you hear, it feels amazing to look out over the entire scope of the project and see the number of people who are working to make this happen. Knowing there are people from all walks of life and professions that range from construction workers to scientists to landscapers to researchers and academics to engineers and even to artists and the people who build our signs who might sleep easier at night worrying a little bit less about where that next bit of funding is going to come from is empowering.

Hopefully I'll pictures of the work in progress to share in the next couple of weeks.



Amazing biscuits and gravy while waiting at Cafe Hon.



*Besides the whole restoring an ecosystem benefit thing. That definitely rocks.

Deatheaters

I struggle with the fact that I sometimes want to be one of those happy, fuzzy bloggers who only blogs of beautiful inspiration and lovely thoughts. The problem is that trying to force myself into just that box is against my very nature. I'm a ranter who needs to periodically grab my soapbox and shout to the world about its problems. If I were vying for President or Miss America, people would call this my platform. My friends just shake their heads, silently thankful that I have a blog where I can vent.

There is a reason for all of this rambling. Earlier today I was directed toward this article in The New Yorker on end of life care. This piece is overwhelming in so many different ways that even finding a way to capture everything it did* to me is difficult.

The state of our health care system and the politics and debates that rage around it is something that is very personal to me. I feel like over the past several years I have witnessed some of its bigger flaws as I watched my grandmother age. The author of the piece, a doctor, lures you in with the story of a young mother-to-be who discovers she has lung cancer during her 39th week of pregnancy despite living a healthy lifestyle and never having smoked. We're drawn deeper into her battle to survive, as treatment after treatment fails.

It's this fork in the road that the author wants us to ponder. The problem is that when he brings us to this point he immediately peppers the path with "...soaring cost of health care is the greatest threat to the country’s long-term solvency, and the terminally ill account for a lot of it," and "twenty-five per cent of all Medicare spending is for the five per cent of patients who are in their final year of life." I refuse to stay silent in a world where medical decisions are based on a cost-benefit analysis, despite OMB's and insurance companies' efforts to put dollar value on what a human life is worth. Anyone walking by could see that I was visibly upset as I read,

"The subject seems to reach national awareness mainly as a question 

of who should “win” when the expensive decisions are made: 

the insurers and the taxpayers footing the bill or the patient battling 

for his or her life. Budget hawks urge us to face the fact that 

we can’t afford everything. "

I absolutely cannot wrap my mind around how we've created a system that would allow a doctor/hospital/insurance company to deny care that might save some one's life based on their ability to pay. Where is the humanity in that? I know folks on the opposite side of the spectrum would argue what I advocate for is socialism and point to the age old examples of waiting so long to see a doctor that you are essentially denied care. They would talk about competition brought on by the quest for higher profits as a tool to stimulate innovative research and treatments. I get that, and I reject it. I wish I were genius enough to have come up with a solution, but all I can offer is that this cannot possibly be the path we go down. The only person who should have the right to deny themselves care is the patient. 

If you hang on, the article does get quite brilliant. He and I found our common ground in the land of hospice. What the author had to learn through home visits and interviews with hospice nurses and patients, we experienced first hand with my grandmother. Even in some of my earliest memories, I remember my grandmother as having health problems (back surgeries, enlarged heart). The memory of those hospital visits pale in comparison to the last two years of her life. Her health had declined so significantly that, for a while, it seemed like each week was touch and go. A particularly horrific stint in the emergency room resulted in a very frank conversation between my grandmother and my mom and grandpa about her wishes and how she wanted to live and die. She was tired. She had lived a full life and didn't want her last breaths to be taken hooked up to a ventilator with her meals delivered through feeding tubes. As her family, we supported her decision, and she was signed up for hospice.

The men and women who provide hospice care are truly amazing human beings. I can't put it any better than the author does.

"In ordinary medicine, the goal is to extend life. We’ll sacrifice the 

quality of your existence now—by performing surgery, providing 

chemotherapy, putting you in intensive care—for the chance of 

gaining time later. Hospice deploys nurses, doctors, and social 

workers to help people with a fatal illness have the fullest possible 

lives right now. That means focusing on objectives like freedom from 

pain and discomfort, or maintaining mental awareness for as 

long as possible, or getting out with family once in a while."

He goes on to quote studies where patients who opt for hospice instead of innumerable last ditch efforts don't necessarily die any sooner and, in fact, have sometimes been known to live a little longer. I know that, with my grandmother, I was given almost two years with her, and I wouldn't trade those for the world. I flew home more frequently and spent almost every hour I could with her. She enjoyed the simple things like getting her hair done, having her nails painted and kicking my ass at Uno

By the end of the article, we are grudgingly friends. He lays out a case for rethinking death and rethinking care based, at least part, strengthening communication, something I can get behind.

Read the article.


*Yes, I know an article can't physically do anything to me, but words can have such a profound effect that it feels physical.

Heard it through the grapevine

I haven't really had to explain blogging much to my mom. I don't know if she inherently gets it or just doesn't bother pursuing any questions that she has. However, the other day I came up with the perfect analogy if she ever does ask. Blogs, at least some of the ones that I read, are the new syndicated lifestyle columnist you would find in your local newspaper.

photo care of We Heart It

I remember reading weekly columns by Rick Smith in the San Angelo Standard Times. I looked forward to that weekly slice of Texas life that gave me the heart-felt human interest story or provided a lesson wrapped up in a story about Joe who knew Billy Bob who used to work with Phil. Through these columns we got to know a little bit about Rick while getting a little bit of news mixed in with local color. Rick is still banging out the pieces for the Standard Times and could be considered a blogger himself as the paper has gone all high-falutin' and online. I recommend checking out a couple of his recent pieces just for fun, including a peek inside what it means to talk Texan or the tall tale* of Jimmy Don Perkins, inventor of the chicken fried steak.

Fast forward 20-odd years, and I still hear stories from my mom and grandpa as culled from some of their favorite columnists.  "You'll never believe it, but this girl who writes for the paper was talking about how the Safeways in DC always run out of food." This happens to be from a regular column by Trish Choate, a transplanted Texan who writes columns about life in DC for the Standard Times (who knew?!). A favorite family read is Sharon Randall, a syndicated columnist who also runs in the local rag. My family admires the stories that Randall spins so much so that my mom tried to get tickets (sold out) to hear her speak at the Abilene Women's Club luncheon for my grandfather's birthday.

photo care of We Heart It

My point is that these columns supplement the day-to-day news we get from the paper, TV, etc. and provide an oft-missing human connection. Many blogs out there do a bit of the same. They give us advice, entertain or inspire us, and above all help foster that human connection. Maybe it's Jamie, who is always seeking, striving and attempting to lift others up or perhaps Colva's sometimes disturbing, sometimes poignant pieces or Tara, who isn't afraid to ask the tough questions. I read different blogs for different reasons, but I find myself drawn back to those who leave a little bit of their soul on the floor or plant an idea in my mind.



*A bit of a War of the Worlds-type story.

Of cool breezes and days off

I took days off, spent hours not working and largely not even thinking about it. Instead, I have enjoyed the cool breezes, sparkling* sun and the company of good friends.

Friday found me at Tarara Winery near Lucketts, Virginia surrounded by friends, several bottles of wine and the picnic we brought with us.


photo by Scarlet Rose

After years of the biannual trek to Smith & Wollensky, there was a general consensus that we had outgrown the stuffy confines of this particular DC establishment and would rather spend some time outdoors in a more casual setting. Missing were the roving sommeliers eager to refill your glass and the Wine Week regulars in their suits and slacks who would stop by the table to drunkenly chat. In their place, there was a view of the Potomac and a personal tasting with the winery staff.


photo by Scarlet Rose

It was a decidedly low key and just what the stress doctor ordered.

The next morning I was up early for a trip to Crafty Bastards in DC with Ravena, Terra and Amanda. I've said I was going to go for years and finally managed to wander the booths.

It was extremely hard to focus when we first walked in because your eyes are immediately assaulted with so many amazing finds. Color. Plush. Paint. Paper. Ack! I walked away with a few treasures of my own, which I will share another day. While I generally failed at taking pictures this weekend, I did manage to snap a couple of photos of lovelies I did not walk away with.

If only all taxidermy were this cute. I fell hard for these Horrible Adorables by Cleveland-based artist Jordan Elise. Being allergic to real pets and animals is excuse enough to purchase one of these, right? If anyone wants to contribute to this adoption fund, give me a buzz.

 
















These book sculptures by local artist Robin Delaloye also blew my mind. I had actually seen these online a few months ago, but nothing compares to examining the detail that goes into curling, shaving and folding thousands of pages in person. As a book lover, part of me wanted to be taken aback. Instead, this just seems another evolution of the book and even better reason why the printed word should still be...printed.

I was pleasantly surprised at how nice people were there. I get so used to folks in DC being brusque or very much caught up in their own world, but people here actually smiled** at you when they passed. It meant something to be able to talk with the artists who actually made these things and form that connection.

*It didn't really sparkle, but it was definitely bright.
**Sometimes I think I'm becoming more and more a Texan every day I don't live there.

My mighty, might life list

At the end of my day yesterday I fell down the internet wormhole into a stumble upon* and discovered this girl. Truth be told, my journey began with a few of the attendees, reading about the Mighty Summit she organized. I have seen a few of these life lists floating around the internet. They are in the same vein as a 'bucket list', which seemed to gain in popularity after that movie with Jack Nicholson, and I really had no interest in creating one. Don't get me wrong. I love lists and consider myself to be at the forefront of the whole "30 before 30" thing. That said, I hate succumbing to trends despite how good they may seem.

Well, after I spent a good 30 minutes perusing these sites and learning more about the intent behind the lists and Mighty Girl's goals for the project, I decided I would be stupid not to jump on the bandwagon. Do I think you need a list to truly live life? Nope...just like I don't think you need a to-do list to actually be productive during the day. However, there is something empowering in seeing what you want in print. It's that extra push to accomplish goals, big or small.

One of the things I was particularly struck by was this sentiment...

"...often our grandest dreams are someone else’s day to day life. You want to write a book? I’m a publisher! You want to go on a cruise? I’m the publicity director for a cruise line! At the Summit, we asked everyone to talk to one another about their lists, and see where we could help each other..."

What a grand concept! Not only can you use your life list to help you live a remarkable life, these lists can be shared to help others achieve theirs. I love the selflessness in this.

So, in the spirit of owning a few little life goals, I present my mighty, mighty life list. I think 100 is the goal, but I decided against pressuring myself to finish. I've got a lot of years in front of me and need to leave space for new interests and ideas. We've got a pretty wide scale and scope here, and while I tried to stay away from the abstract, a few of those snuck in, too. I should also add that these are in no particular order ;-)






*A stumble upon can be defined as that random website you eventually wind up reading after following interesting links from at least 3 different sites.

Graffiti stalking

I had an idea yesterday. I think it was a rather brilliant* idea. The problem I'm running into is with exactly how to implement it.

You see, I need a graffiti artist (or three). How does one go about finding a graffiti artist? The very nature of graffiti is the underground culture, the anonymity to the general populous, and let's face it, as cool as I think I am, I am very much the general populous. If a graffiti artist passed me on the street, they would immediately think NARC.



I was AIM friends with a graffiti artist once a few years ago. We became friends through Flickr and would chat about graffiti at random hours of the night. Besides my one failed attempt at graffiti, this was my only personal connection** to someone who actually risked their freedom for the sake of their art.


photo credit: Rev. Xanatos Satanicos Bombasticos

The legality of graffiti and street art and the freedom of expression come into play. My idea is 100% legal, so there's the benefit of a jail-free session for the artist. However, is the adrenaline and the rebellion of it part of what makes a graffiti artist? Will the fact that I need more than a little artistic control of my project be a deal breaker?

Irregardless of what the answer to those questions might be, I have to try. So, we are back to my original question. How does one go about finding a graffiti artist? Hanging out in dark alleys and lonely buildings late at night isn't an option I'm willing to pursue, and hanging fliers with those little pull tabs at popular graffiti sites seems more than a little hokey. Instead, I've taken to the internet this morning and am flexing my research and social networking fingers. Tons of Baltimore graffiti lovers and stalkers (and maybe artists?) will wake up this morning with Flickr messages, YouTube comments and emails through their blogs about my search.

While I await a response, you should check out these cool pictures offered up by local artists and photographers.

Rhaps777 at the Hippodome

Dominic A. Castro

Carlos Vigil

Ironlak



*Of course, who doesn't think their own ideas are brilliant.
**I take that back. I once got my grandmother to do a bit of sticker graffiti with me. I don't lie when I say my family supports almost all of my endeavors.

Fall: A Love Story

Some People live for summers filled with beaches and suntans. They feel truly alive only when the days are heavy with heat. I am a Fall baby, meant to blossom when the days are short, the air crisp and leaves brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow.

Today officially marks the first day of Fall, and I am fully prepared to come out of my shell and start enjoying outdoor activities again. A blanket spread over fallen leaves makes lunch more special. A thermos filled with soup becomes a cute accessory.



And my hair...my hair can finally be released from the prison in which it resides on top of my head. So, in honor of the first day of Fall, I let my hair down and got it freshly chopped. New season. New hair.
Happy Fall!

A really good day

I had a really good day this past Friday. Don't get me wrong, I have good days all the time, but this particular day was filled with such beautiful symmetry. So many things going so right at precisely the right time. I'm not one to literally leap for joy, but if I could have gained air, I would have been sailing. I was the general of a well-oiled army, the conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. It is feelings like these that I want to remember.

Beautiful Failures

On Saturday evening, I searched everywhere for a partner in crime to drag to the opening of Beautiful Failures at Art Whino. Ravena, who rarely shies away from an adventure, agreed to make the trek to National Harbor with me and gaze at art with important, knowing glances.

I like art (a lot) and sometimes wonder if I should develop more discerning taste. Walking into a gallery like Art Whino, one of my favorites, I find that I am overwhelmed by the pieces before me. Seeing so many pieces that catch my eye is a bit like seeing an attractive boy. My pulse starts to race, and I can feel my face getting a bit flushed. I struggle internally, fighting the impulse to zoom on to the next piece of eye candy when I should be fully digesting the emotion and effort of the work before me. Below are just a few of the paintings and bits of mixed media that gave me that initial rush.



Walking through the exhibit I came full circle. While I can take away visual inspiration from a number of different artists and art forms, discernment comes when deciding which ones I want to allow into my home and to become a part of my life. Which artists am I willing to support with my hard-earned paycheck? Maybe I'm taking this entire analogy too far, but selecting a piece of art can be akin to selecting a mate. I believe the right pieces don't just hang on the wall, giving your eye a pleasant place to rest when sitting on the couch. They should also give back in some way, perhaps sparking a mental debate or emotional response.























A number of factors contributed to the way I experienced Richard Salcido's works for Beautiful Failures. It was a fairly crowded opening with live sketching, a musical performance and a lot of bodies milling about, including a decent number of kids. Art is, and should be, for the people, but if you know me at all, you know that I do not function well in crowds. I am an intimate setting, small group kind of gal. By the time we had wound our way around to Salcido, I was feeling a bit raw and exposed (and a tad judgemental).























Fitting emotions given that this is precisely what I felt Salcido's pieces conveyed. After seeing a preview of his work online, I had been a bit worried they would be misogynistic. Instead, it seems to me that Salcido portrays women and girls at their most vulnerable and raw. He captures a moment in time that isn't always pretty but that can be heartbreakingly beautiful. Was there amazing technique or anything truly groundbreaking about these paintings? Not really. What Salcido excelled at was conveying emotion and creating a bond with the viewer (at least this one), and that, to me, is a much bigger art win.

Just another funny face

This isn't really a fashion-related* post, but I'm still doing it in honor of NYFW** this week. Have you seen Funny Face? No? It's S'Wonderful. It features Audrey Hepburn as a philosophy-loving bookstore clerk who is whisked off her feet by Fred Astaire, who plays a fashion photographer based loosely on Richard Avedon.




















Hepburn's character finds herself swept into the world of high fashion as she suddenly becomes the It face of Quality magazine***. One of my favorite scenes from the movie is the opening sequence to "Think Pink". I find the staging, with its symmetry and minimal use of color, very compelling. However, the best scene, in my opinion, takes place in the Parisian cafe where she goes to discuss philosophy, particularly emphaticalism. Fred Astaire swoops in to remind her of her work commitments, and in response, Audrey Hepburn lets loose with the moves of a veteran hepcat. This scene alone was the reason this found a way into my fastidious DVD collection.



































It's a cute story with sweet songs that will stick in your head. Personally, I would recommend you watch it even if just for the visuals. I have to confess that I watched it myself for embarrassing reasons. First (and foremost), it's Lorelai's favorite movie in Gilmore Girls, and it plays a pivotal role in what might be the cutest date ever. The other reason I tracked this movie down is that the dance scene featured prominently in a Gap commercial a couple of years ago, and my interest was piqued enough that I researched the original source.









































*I seriously have no idea what crawled up my butt and died to warrant all of this mention of fashion. Blame it on Fall.

**On a completely different tangential, did anyone else watch Fashion's Night Out last night? I found it oddly compelling despite the overt plugs for consumerism.

***The woman who played the magazine's editor is actually the author of the Eloise books. So weird.

****All official promo photos pulled from Google images.

Round and round

I can't believe my grandmother has been gone a year.
It passed
in the blink of an eye.
I actually missed the anniversary. I feel guilty at not having lived the moment again...not being there for my mom, who I'm sure remembered.
My memory jogged as my mom was telling me about her trip to Michaels yesterday. She went to get flowers and other stuff to decorate my grandmother's grave. My grandmother loved the different seasons and holidays and always believed her house should get a little makeover in
the form of special tea towels, seasonal candles, etc. Now, her grave gets a makeover each season. My mom said my grandfather pointed out that Halloween was my grandmother's favorite and that my mom should get something scary. We laughed, a good, soul-cleansing laugh, while on the phone at the idea of her decorating a gravestone for Halloween. "Mom," I said "don't you think a cemetery and graves are creepy enough?" Tears rolled down my cheeks as we laughed over skeletons and witches and other decorations my mom passed up.
It was good--this laughter--knowing that somewhere she was laughing with me. And, after we got off the phone, I went and hung up some of my grandmother's fall dish towels in my kitchen.

Ginsberg at the Gallery

I took advantage of having to do some work DC and finally made it to the National Gallery of Art to catch Beat Memories: The Photographs of Allen Ginsberg before it closes. I ended up walking the couple of miles from the office to NGA, thankful that summer is finally on its way out. Nothing beats a good stroll for a little reflection.

Getting to Ginsberg required cutting through Impressionism. I’ll admit that I was pretty full of myself, scoffing at being directed through a style of art I thought I’d left behind in my teens. I was all set to breeze through this section when, not having gone five feet, a Modigliani stopped me in my tracks.



More Modernist than Impressionist, I’m sure all of your serious art lovers consider him a tad cliché. I don’t care. I love everything about them.




(I wonder if artists who paint nudes today paint them media-skinny.)

My new approach to the larger galleries is to only hit exhibits I’m interested in and not feel guilted into taking on the entire gallery in a day. I was briefly sidetracked by a few pieces by Georges Braque but was determined to keep on toward Ginsberg.







I was a little worried about being under-whelmed with the Ginsberg exhibit. What could I possibly get from photos of the Beat literati? Instead, I found validation and more than a little encouragement. Ginsberg excelled at the snapshot, documenting his life and that of his friends. I was struck by how much his photos were like mine and those of my friends. He captured life’s moments and documented his people. There was an intimacy to the photos that drew me in and made me feel like I, too, was a part of their lives. Not only was this something tangible he could look back on over the years, but documenting it also allowed him to share this with us.



It was a reminder to keep documenting life. Post your photos to Facebook, Flickr or that new photo album. Write about your photos and record your stories, too. Future generations will thank you for the context. A quote I saw this week on Twitter comes to mind.

“Thinking about your legacy when you’re 30 gives you a 20-year head start from when most people start worrying about it.”

We won’t all be Ginsbergs, but even the most mundane among us can inform future generations. By the way, did I mention how hot Kerouac was in 1953?

Just like paper dolls

Despite the fact that I spent my teenage years pouring over fashion magazines and catalogues, I am far from a fashion maven in my adult life. I like nothing more than to find a few pieces I like and wear them like they are my uniform. My pragmatic side believes in wearing things out and limiting consumption of material goods. Still, as I think I've demonstrated here, I am lured by pretty images, and clothes (along with photoshoots) play right into that at times. So, when my amazing mother told me she wanted to buy me some new clothes and sent me to a website* to pick some out, I got the grand idea to put my fashion-loving friends to the challenge.

The rules? Put together three fall outfits for me. Take my personality and interests into consideration. Pretty simple and to the point. Behold their selections (you have to do some scrolling)...

Serena's Fall Wardrobe Challenge

I chose three winning outfits and promised fame and glory. Want to know who won?

Fall 2 by scarls17 featuring red tights

This was my pick for best every day look. It's simple and could take me from work to running errands. I love the combination of stripes and the addition of fun tights. This person also knows it is highly unlikely I would wear heels.

@notmiranda Look #2 by randi9601 featuring a peplum jacket

This was my favorite look for evening. I'm not really a leather girl, but I loved how feminine and edgy this was. Bold colors, too. I'm not going to lie...it might have been the ring that won me over.

Allie's River Walking by notmiranda featuring graphic tees

My third selection was this combo. She was the only person who really took into consideration what my work sometimes involves. Not only is it fun, but this girl has some of the best taste in accessories and shoes (IMHO).

Needless to say, I loved bits and pieces of everything proposed. I also love how excited everyone got to do the challenge. Thanks, gang!


*I should point out that none of the clothes here relate in any way to the website my mom sent me to. We don't roll like that.

I made a skirt last night out of a vintage sheet from the '60s. I can't lie. I'm pretty proud of myself seeing as how I had no pattern, sewed it all by hand and even added a zipper. Hell, it even has pleats.

Does it fit perfectly? No, the waist is too big.

Still, I had an idea. I brought it to fruition. I love motivation.