notes from a shoot
Last night J, K and I had a photo shoot of sorts at J's flat.
It went rather well, judging from preliminary images. For the exterior shots we had J posing in a series of alleyways behind Queen St. W. against a vivid, rainbow-hued backdrop of the most intricate and beautiful graffiti designs you've ever seen. A favourite location involved a three-foot-wide alley in between two buildings with a single lonesome swing set in between them. The stench of urine was somewhat nauseating. But the shots were bold, graphic and visually striking.
The interior shots were shot in softer, warmer light in the white-walled space of J's flat, under a door frame, and lounging on a sofa. They were slightly more introspective than the exterior images, conveying a sense of loneliness, contemplation, sadness and perhaps a bit of vulnerability.
I don't think I did the best job with the hair and make-up that I could have done. We were a bit pressed for time, and considering we were working with limited resources I couldn't take it to the artistic limit. I was pleased with the result, but in everything I do, I could have done better. Next time I ought to bring a full kit over. For the exterior shots I did a graphic, heavily-lined eye with the blackest liner I could find - mimicking the lines in graffiti designs - keeping the skin and mouth very matte and monochromatic, with only a flesh-coloured lipstick pressed onto the mouth, and a rosy matte colour blended onto the centre of the lips. The eyes were the focus, as were the brows - dark, bold, almost tattoo-like.
The make-up for the interior shots was soft, finger-smudged, shimmery in tones of charcoal, gray, gray-blues and silvery taupes. The eyes were lined with a soft kohl pencil in gunmetal gray, and layers upon layers of soft shadows on top of that. Mascara was kept minimal and the skin was dusted with a highlighter where the sun naturally hits: the forehead, cheeks, nose and chin. I used a clear metallic rose gloss on the centre of the mouth only, and silvery powder to highlight the collarbone and shoulders. In both cases the hair was kept flowing, wavy - nothing too styled or uptight.
K's playing around with the images on Photoshop for added effect. I can't wait to see the finished product, and if I can get away with it, I'll post a photo here.
white is the new black
After nearly three years of salivating for it, I am now very fortunate to be the proud owner of a new, shiny, and very stunning white Apple iPod.
Apple are geniuses when it comes to innovation, and the iPod is no exception - in my opinion Apple belongs in the upper echelons of product design, alongside Sony, Mont Blanc, Bang & Olufsen etc. Everybody and their brother knows what it looks like, but to actually feel it in your hand, to hear the satisfying 'click' as you scroll using its click wheel, to see it glow a fabulous sky blue when its backlight is activated, and to enjoy the crisp bass using those cool white headphones, is something else altogether. It is my baby.
I chose a classic model over the iPod Mini. It was, in part, due to the premium paid for Mini's small size - too tiny, in my opinion, and I cannot imagine someone with bigger hands than mine fumbling around with its little click wheel and squinting into its small screen. The Mini's 4GB capacity seemed on the small side as well, considering I had over 3GB of songs on my computer to begin with. As for the colours - they're cute, but if your colour preferences change as frequently as mine do, you're going to be in trouble if suddenly green is the unhippest colour around. The classic model, however, comes in every colour you'd want, as long as it's white. And is it ever gorgeous.
On Saturday I spent the entire afternoon transferring a good part of my vast CD collection onto the iPod. All in all, I currently have just over 5GB (1500 songs) on it, and the collection is growing. I have no idea how I managed to get by using Discmans for the past few years. iPods, and other such related devices, could very well change the way music is consumed in the future (and that probably spells terrible news for CD companies). I'm sure I'm not the only one who can see themselves downloading songs instead of purchasing CDs - how convenient is it
not having to cart around an entire load of CDs when you've got an mp3 player? However, I
can see myself buying CDs if it involves impossible-to-find French lounge compilations, Radiohead's 'lost' b-sides, or stunning liner notes for that matter. Pretty packaging - oooooh.
what's old is new again
Welcome to my new and improved - well, hopefully - website, formerly known as butterflies & hurricanes. I decided that the layout of the old site was getting too cumbersome to update, looked a little too stiff for my liking, and this layout feels fresher and more fluid anyhow. I've kept the fundamental elements the same (and gotten rid of some areas as well), but I hope to add some new things to it as time goes on. If you've got any ideas, contributions, or input, please do get in touch. Post comments and leave comments in the shoutbox; the site will be as exciting as you make it. In the meantime, feel free to explore. Thanks, as always, for your support.
it's mine, all mine...maybe
Perhaps I'm naive, but never did I think it would be so bloody difficult finding a flat. The lettings system is like none other in London. Now that I've found a place (touch wood) - keep your fingers, toes, and whatever other body parts you can possibly cross (your eyes, maybe? Use your imagination) - crossed that this wanker of a landlord will sign the bloody agreement, give me the keys to the flat, and not hassle me any further. I do not know why the word 'student' should strike fear in anybody's heart. I will be an angel, I swear.
So for the next (eep!) 14 working days, I'm back at work, this time in Litigation for two weeks. I might have been away from my desk for far too long, as this morning I couldn't help but wonder in total frustration why lawyers seem to speak another language altogether. ("After the motion, have the order issued and entered."
Pardon? I suppose it would be far too simple to say, "Go to court. Get the judge to sign and stamp this piece of paper." I guess I really am just a stupid student after all.)
On a lighter note, words cannot describe how glad I am to see bloody summer clothes out of shops and into clearance bins. I am not a big fan of itty-bitty, candy-coloured strappy camisoles and platform shoes, flared denim or low-cut trousers with bellies and other unsightly bits hanging out of them. Thank God for tweeds, menswear-influenced tailoring, browns, teals, royal purples, two-toned spectator court shoes, belted trenches, and pencil skirts. It's time for most ladies out there to retire the ubiquitous mall-rat look and have a little bit of class.
Or at least, pretend to.
the hunt continues
I always joke about it, but maybe, perhaps maybe, I
will be living in a London bus shelter as of next year. A very dreadful thought indeed. Here I am in London, and two properties that I was vaguely interested today were quickly snatched up by some other lucky blokes. The lettings system in London is absolutely absurd, and the flats/studios are taken at an incredible rate. I did see one today that is quite gorgeous although spectacularly out of my price range. The frightening part is that I may have no other choice. I have yet to learn that in London's fast-paced lettings system, I cannot pause and say, "Hm. I'll have to think about it." No. In London, you say, "Baby, I want that flat, and I want it now."
(Except perhaps not with the "Baby" at the beginning. Especially if the lettings agent turns out to be a balding, middle-aged, beer-bellied Englishman with perspiration problems.)
Not to state the obvious, but this blog has remained awfully dormant for the past little while. Apologies. I repeatedly try to find sneaky little ways of updating, but given where I have been sitting for the past while, altering the entire configuration of this workstation so as to prevent my current supervisor from seeing my monitor whenever she leaves her office is rather unfeasible. That, and it would be rather impractical.
She has just begged me to "go have lunch", so here I am. I can assure you that I
have had lunch, and have been having lunch at appropriate times for the duration of time that I've been here, but lately I've felt so full afterwards that I somehow always prefer sitting here digesting silently whilst surfing the internet and feeling the fat curdling around my thighs, rather than actually
moving. my. legs and taking a walk downstairs. I can be such a lazy little bugger. I am, however, in the midst of reading a newly acquired book on various yoga positions meant to "reduce stress, depression, sports injuries" and various other lovely conditions. For a lazy person, yoga seems like quite a lazy way to actually get some much-needed exercise. Something is telling me that I could be very, very wrong indeed.
Long weekend. The name is deceiving since it is
never as long as it should be. It was a fairly quiet one, with me sleeping through most of it (maybe if I didn't do that so often, I would actually
have a weekend). My biggest achievement was perhaps seeing
Spider-man 2 for the second time, this time with Mum. She hadn't seen it yet, and Dad opted to see
I, Robot instead, cleverly avoiding the need to hear me sighing dreamily at big-screen shots of Tobey Maguire who looks adorable and delicious in the film. I seem to be continually attracted to moon-faced men with short brown hair, sleepy blue eyes, and reedy voices. Preppy clothes - distressed denim jeans, slightly wrinkly polo shirts/button-downs with the shirttails out, topped off with a blazer. Ooooh, let's talk more about cute boys!
Shhh. Oh, wait. I hear footsteps around the corner. I reckon it is the end of my lunch hour. But before I go - don't watch
Hidalgo. It is spectactularly boring; I couldn't even sit through the whole thing to actually finish it. Viggo Mortensen looks much more fit with stringy long brown hair, swaddled in mucky green capes and romping around in dodgy knee-high boots. In
Hidalgo - with all due respect to Mr. Mortensen - he simply looks like a street bum.
(Just my two cents.)
