30 November 2011
26 November 2011
every time I even think of mentioning a new tattoo to my father... I can feel like eyes rolling from one end of the table to the other. Then there is always the silent pause as he continues to enjoy his masticated piece of flesh (I'm a vegetarian- and yet my dad still can't away from his fucking Morton's.. go figure) but it's pretty safe to say=- that I really love words- phrases- poetry- everything about literature- and well... my dad calls my choice of my body art- my tattoos... as part of the novel I have decided to "mark" myself with... and I wouldn't argue too differently to say the truth. The most important one I have of my "body novel" is on the back of my neck- the EXACT writing from a card my mom sent me when I was in New York in the summer- sticking my feet in ice buckets- and perfectly my pas de quois as a young ballet ingenue- at the Geoffrey Junior Ballet.... which says: "I will always be here for you- even if we're apart." BINGO! Genius tat to get as she had passed... with one of my best friends passing at 15- inspired my quote below the skeleton faced fairy (come on, I was 15- and Venice Beach is the only place that tats the kids- so that explains that one!!) but the quote I tattooed a few years later spoke so true that I kept perfecting in my mind for my dear friend that lost her life too young...
"she chooses an exquisite cloud to protect her, and she dances in the rain"
she is my cloud protecting me, the tiny dancer who loves to dance in the rain- and always drives way too fast with the heat blasting- windows down with a Marlborough red dangling from my over-pouted lips...
The one year anniversary of my mom passing... I tattooed another "jazzie-ism" that had really pulled my shit together, and is my constant and DAILY reminder of keeping it together...
you have two choices when you loose the one thing that makes your heart beat, feeds your soul- and makes you wake up and feel alive in the morning... attempt to numb yourself until you don't have to wake up anymore.. or you fight... you take the blood shed from your blackened hole in your soul... and you feed your art- you utilize the pain as the inspiration for your creation...
the next tattoo novel item, boldly placed on my index finger:
I'm not ashamed of who I am, what I am- and how people choose to judge me... that's their own shit to have to deal with... But it's something that is so innocent, honest, and true about me- and it just fits me...
The next "Jazzie-ism" that I'm really itching for (yes... be warned if you haven't gotten inked yet... it's addictive!!)
one that really just was a OH SHIT moment- that I HAVE to get next... and the spot? My left ribcage:
"the greatest artists don't "do" art.
they live it. breathe it. and are
suffocated by it until their
last dying breath"
itching for ink...
her name is as striking as she-
you want more of her from first glimpse. she's a chameleon whom commands your presence at the EXACT moment the photographer's camera clicks. she hits pose after pose after pose- giving SUCH range- each click she morphs into a new mood- a gasp ::click:: seductress ::click:: demonic ::click:: fury ::click:: it's just breath taking to watch someone whom is so talented just make the whole image come to life the way coco does... she's a new breed that the fashion aficionado can't replicate and can't get enough of. She is definately without a doubt a talent I would love to work with- and can't wait to just absorb every ounce of her being- and just admire how she screams without any words... an artist our Coco is... just look at these amateurs failing to even TOUCH her in comparison...
22 November 2011
Network Talent Community: Red Carpet Behind the Scenes - Network Talent Community
We all brisk through our People Magazine, or what have you, of the week, gazing in wonderment and jealousy at the beautifully dressed women on the red carpet (or at least I do). But as I flip through page after page of glossy magazine beauty, I not once stopped to think about the work that goes into making these statuesque celebs that I’m constantly looking at.
That was, until I happened to pop in on Jazzie, fashion artist (stylist) extraordinaire on a seemingly ordinary turned “cray cray” day. She had just received a call on her sparkle to the max rhinestone-drowned cell phone from one of her girlfriends/celebrities who asked Jazzie to not only dress her, but be her date to the Rodeo Walk of Style that would be featuring Missoni.
Lets pause for a moment so I can give you the timeline. In exactly a week, from Wednesday to Wednesday, the entire process was complete, from Jazzie getting the phone call to dress her newest plaything to sitting on the couch, nibbling at her nails, waiting to get feedback on her creation from tabloids and entertainment news shows.
Back to Wednesday, day 1. Not a moment after the phone call came and went with it’s request, Jazzie ran like a fashion monster with it’s head cut off around her just moved into new fashion castle (apartment) scattered with papers, clothing, accessories and the average mess of an eclectic artist.
“Le Book,” she screamed over and over again. “Where is Le Book?” Initially I thought she was attempting to be overdramatic by asking for some random book in French. Little did I know, Le Book is the holy grail of fashion contacts. This several volume, bound book of fashion industry glory held the name of every big designer, photographer, director, artist and on and on.
After finding the contact for Missoni in the book of fashion dreams, Jazzie had to get her celeb a piece from their collection as the red carpet event was devoted to them, she gave them a ring and ensured she would be able to receive a piece for that weekend.
The fun part began an hour later when her soon to be mannequin called saying she didn’t want to walk the red carpet, nor did she want the attention and she feared that a pimple might ruin the evening. (yes celebrities get acne just like you and me)
“I know you, I get you, I’m so excited. I don’t do this for a living, I live to do this,” yelled Jazzie into the phone.
“Let me play dress up. Now get excited. I want to hear you scream,” she said as I could hear a faint scream coming from the inside of her cell.
And play dress up she did. The following Wednesday after the event had passed, Jazzie broke her thought process down for her celeb’s outfit that killed the red carpet (in a good way, nay, in a Jazzie way).
Instead of the typical Missoni dress that many toted that night, Jazzie went for a Missoni top that was beyond the name in any use of the word, leather shorts, peep toe black platforms and accessories to the max.
Waiting for the tabloids that covered the red carpet event to come out, Jazzie was far beyond dying to know what people thought of her outfit. Katascha, her marvelous assistant, and I assured her that no news was good news but as always Jazzie had different ideas.
“I’d rather they say it was a bad outfit than nothing at all. I’d rather them say it was good but if they don’t say anything that means I didn’t catch anyone’s attention and that’s what it’s all about,” she said emphatically.
Understanding her point of view we searched but soon found the event wasn’t covered by many tabloids, although images of her beautiful celebufriend were splashed on various sites and left up to the masses to decide what they thought of it.
Feeling more knowledgeable than ever about what it takes to get someone looking fabulous on the red carpet, I browse through my tabloids with a new weight of truth. As I glance through, there is someone on the other end heartlessly searching for remarks on their creation. When the red carpet event is over, the game has just begun.
15 November 2011
being called an awkward beauty... weirdly beautiful... exotic... intriguing... this is for the girls with eyes too big for their face... who are stuck looking like we're 12.... we are weirdly beautiful... and when the game can even admit to the intrigue of "us"... then ya, we "dollfaced weird beauties" have arrived... sending all of my love and clapping my hands and saying YEAH to the badasses of the bold faces.... we are awkward, and you may not understand us- but there's just something about us...
*big eyed bella*
fresh off of a new pair of Campbell's high browsing through the Nordstrom at the Grove with Nash- the Mac counter glitters with holiday collection from the distance. The same dismal reds, bright shiny apples await their next kiss of death... I sit somewhat amused as Margaret attempts to try a brand not sold at Barneys for once, as a sheer pink lip gloss is her first dip into the Mac make up pool. Kicking my feet and my new kicks- I see the blood crimson staring me dead in my blackened kohl eyes...
If I'm going to practice what I preach with telling my clients to BE BOLD. TRY A NEW LOOK. CHANGE IT UP, why not put my money where my mouth is and try a bold new shade? The deepest crimson.... if Aubergine and Burgundy had a lipstick baby... it would be called WHAT JOY! Satin by Mac. The whitest shade of Blonde and the Darkest shade of red felt suddenly dark, dark, dark in my dark of hearts- and so so good.... When in a rush waking up in a tangle of my hair- facing the closet of perfectly laden Black that engulfs my wardrobe that is my skin... the blood red swipe across my lips thrown on with my huge Ray Ban aviators just instantly gives a posh bullshit "I've got my shit together" look... when underneath is yesterdays face- and no one dares to question with a lip color like this that you have ever just rolled out of bed my little sleepy heads... give them the ultimate rip lip curl with a shade that is shocking to even your own self in the mirror... and we just may be starting to fuck with some brilliance here... give it a try my little monsters... it won't bite. xx