I might have cried throughout this entire exhibit had I not been so preoccupied by the clusterfuck of people crowding all around me.
A romantic schizophrenic he was, indeed.
I might have cried throughout this entire exhibit had I not been so preoccupied by the clusterfuck of people crowding all around me.
A romantic schizophrenic he was, indeed.
My beautiful mama <3
I found this man-made wind chime on the beach today, took a million pictures of it, and then begged imthecatman to bring it home with us. In the end, the possibility of parasites living in the seaweed conquered all and I left my sweet beach find behind… :(
P.S. Please take note of the tiny bicycle reflector. Subtle yet so poignant.
Last night we watched Microcosmos and I couldn’t help but to take a few screenstills of some of the stars!
‘Nature creates her own bouquet below the Maroon Bells. A clump of aspens retains its brilliance long after its companions have shed their leaves.’
Today I happened upon the most mystical and magical of dilapidated buildings. Located in a seemingly forgotten part of Clinton Hill, adjacent to one of the sketchiest/most amazing Salvation Army’s I’ve ever been in, the Broken Angel sleeps. Upon first glance, what appeared to be a church was at some point someone’s home..
This is their story.
Grace Coddington by Jeff Mermelstein
(New York Magazine)
More Ukey love!
