Doors inside out. The occupants never thought of them; instead they thought of boxes. The ones piled up too high behind the locker door made of corrugated metal, and heavy, and blue grey, with a cold past squeezing out from around it. This was really a solid gate, not a door.
Real doors were warm and wooden and painted red like the ones on the front of heritage homes. That’s the best color for a door because it shows off a Christmas wreath just right. It draws attention to its structure and co-ordinates well with a black wrought iron mailbox. The lawn is happy with a complimentary splash of color.
False Front
Birds find it cheerful, and the loud rumblings heard coming from behind it; the angry voices, the shouting seem even more violent when passing through the scarlet wound of the house. If the door were made of glass, one wonders if the occupants would be quieter and reflective. Who made a decision to inflame the door; and when was it so.
… “With stout resolve,” reports a fashion book, “Kate almost single-handedly broke down the dress code for women,” by insisting on wearing men’s trousers on set and off, everywhere and all the time.
What would Katherine Hepburn have to say about my desire to join her non-conforming role in bending fashion? Kate’s voice would ring out smartly demanding I step into these male-tailored outfits with no trepidation at all!! I advance straight into strong Yang mode!
The color purple, paired with red, borders on becoming a fashion negative. Yet, worn with neutrals, the look is classic.
Before Stepping-Out I’m Adding a 4″ Heel to these Shoes!
Smoking out trends; we catch the look!
Study British, French, and Italian Magazines.
Hunt through dormant wardrobe items and try-out new combinations.
Men’s trousers can easily be “nipped in” at the back of the waist to fit women.
I invite all women to convert and experience such liberation.
Borrow ideas from store displays.
Light tortoiseshell eyeglasses will frame your summer whites and linens.
Most importantly: keep a steady eye on the FABRICS featured in new collections.
Flaunt your yang and never hesitate to take a risk: this will allow you to initiate new trends.
Jeans are an invention of 19th century U.S.A. Initially conceived as rugged work pants by the founder of Levi Strauss they eventually became a symbol of rebellious youth in the fifties. In the late sixties jeans became a socially acceptable designer item and worn by well-to-do young in Europe.
A Men & Women’s Wise-Ass Neoteric Look:
Begin with Designer Jeans, worn with a striped shirt open at the neck, and paired with a noteworthy belt and Italian loafers. Choose a boldly colored and printed pocket square to contrast with the shirt. Pull the centre of the pocket square down and tuck it inside the back pocket of your jeans leaving the points out to give a loose relaxed effect.
Levi’s 501 are the celebrity jeans. Why? Because famous people, like Andy Warhol, wore them…
with…
check shirt, necktie, and blue blazer.
Bob Colacello, writer for Vanity Fair, has mentioned that it was Warhol”s colleague and friend, Fred Hughes, who birthed the combination of jeans with a suit jacket. Hughes had his 501’s washed and pressed every day so the seams were never crooked and there was no loose fabric on the thighs. Warhol was far more notorious than Hughes and so the “uniform” became known as the ‘Warhol Look’.
“Warhol WOW”
To keep 501’s true blue they should be dry cleaned, not washed.
Thanking my unconscious mind for these permissive ideas.
Eating lunch with a friend at 3:30 p.m. in Capers Courtyard on Fourth Avenue yesterday. Two pigeons strutted around the table and between our feet. I noticed they had black toenails at the end of their red toes and legs. This is very dramatic and beautiful. I feel I need coral red fingernails with jet black tips: very Zen!! Now here I think the next Fashion Movement will be a ‘Zen’ look. I could do one: Paper, water blue, soft jade green, moonlight, horizontal planes, 7″ x 7″ proportions, whispers. Nothingness, lightness, being (3 stages of birth)… I like my new concept.
What else comes from my Zen? Bowls, trees, discs, flow, chromium yellow and wine-stain red, high altitudes/attitudes, thinness, sticks, stones, smoothness, waving, layers, reduction, balance, harmony zones: The Zen Zone; how would that look? How would I combine the colors?
One stroke on a brass gong: a single strike against a brass gong!
Tastes like pepperment: Peppermint Zen.
Smells like cinnamon-sea air.
Feels like mountain (Whistler) wind.
The energy of a horse’s mane in the air as it gallops, the flames of a fire (fire flame), a bird wing fanned out (against) or into the wind.
I like these images.
My “imagineered” design style is a place where Zen and Clutter Meet.
The swell of the waves makes my thighs quiver and my lower body feels sensations taking in the movement of the sea. The Shangri-La thrusts above the headland.
A deep pink geranium sits pretty in the black cast iron urn near my feet silently dropping her petals as she too admires the whitecaps. A dainty sophisticate, the geranium has an oriental lily pad leaf anchoring an English flower and bud with small petals, fanning out a saturated hue against clouds swollen with shadows leaning along the sky in layers.
The icy wind is bending tree branches and whirring the stalks of shrubs into a frenzy. The Seawalkers keep their collars up and kleenex under their noses as they brace their steps for the next burst of cold air breaking over them. Long scarves twirl and leap outward in a scatter-brained dance.
The train tracks creak, dogs yip and howl.
My feet are cold, as is my tea, and yet it is mesmerizing to sit in the midst of it all. A lone gull is being blown blocks out of his way by the next forceful blow of the wind. He’s drawn across roof and tree tops and sent soaring away from the water toward the hard blue mountains.
A steady grumble makes its way through the leaky windows and the canvas awnings flap furiously against the current.
Without warning leaves are blown inside out revealing their naked light side. The logs sitting atop the giant granite boulders lining the walk thunk, thunk, in repetition. All is divine as blue sky and tips of sunlight foreshadow a heavenly day.
Now the sun comes out to spoil me warming my bare feet resting on the tile floor. The rays are blinding as they reflect off the water and the surface of the sea glitters in madcap fashion. Sunlight is pulled back and in ten breaths I see only a glare as the seagulls wail mournfully. The sun is back, in the completion of a sentence, playing hide and seek with me. I have to squint hard against it.
More people are out walking now. The path becomes a medley of color: mauve, red, blue, pink, white, gold, black, navy, tan: the colors of our clothing, our cars, and our floral arrangements.
The walk has emptied, my tea is drained, I leave the solarium in peace having read a few more pages from Louise Erdrich’s book, “The Blue Jay’s Dance.” A Birth Year. Exquisite, lyrical prose by a Best-Selling Author, Mother, Observer of Nature and Poet. These little vignettes are “unpredictable and unforgettable.” The mundane of everyday life is rendered marvelous!
Once back in the kitchen I look out and see the arbutus tree waving wildly in the wind. My concern is for the crow who built her nest in a strong fork of one of the branches. I can see vaguely through the blossoms that she’s home by a small glimpse of her shiny black feathers. The tree is caught up in a baby hurricane and I think of the bird mother having morning sickness in the dizzying gale. If the eggs aren’t scrambled by the time the wind ceases the birdlings will be born remembering this psychedelic drama in their incubation. All day I fret over whether the nest will weather the storm.
I had watched the nest being built and the crow had a mate helping to weave each thoughtfully chosen strand of material into a new home. Many trips were made carrying puffs of something white and fluffy. Normally the nest rests in utopia almost hidden by the thick and lavish white flowers and green leaves of the arbutus tree; a floral-lined loft. By sunset the scene turned calm, the five-hour power outage was repaired, and I had the kettle back on. I was extremely grateful for electricity, a safe nest, and all the energetic forces of Mother Nature purifying the air we breathe. The electric heat is back on, the fridge is cold again, and the food didn’t spoil. So what if the computer wouldn’t work, I got this written anyway… by hand and heart.
Crow Nursery constructed in the boughs of the red-trunked Arbutus Tree
I take artistic license and paint this Mannequin in poster pretty colors.
"Owns" the City!
Mark Teasdale is a Professional Photographer based in North Vancouver, B.C. To view the scope of his work online please click on the following link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/24346373@N08/
