Wednesday, 19 March 2014

a conduit of creativity

One inimitable lady keeps rolling across my eyeballs these days, and let me tell you, these baby blues ain't complaining.  Erin Wasson, tomboy, powerhouse, oracle of wisdom, fountain of cool.  But never, no never, a muse.

Her southern ways, her legs for days - it's no wonder the world can't get enough of this beauty.  Her style's no slacker either, a little leather, a little southwest and a whole lotta denim elicit more than the appreciative murmur.  Riotous applause it is, from one Texan to another and all to the rhythm of her stomping cowboy boots.

But like most, the best bit's the inside. Visit some nuggets of thought from her rebel soul - they outshine even that spectacular facade.

- "You know, my whole thing is being a conduit of creativity. It sounds totally esoteric and hippie, but the more things that you can do to challenge yourself, test yourself, and find a new medium of creativity…I’m all about it. I don’t believe in being a ‘muse,’ though. That whole concept is a fleeting moment. It’s not a person that inspires you, it’s someone that’s personifying a bigger picture—it’s not the actual person, you know? There is no way one person walking this earth can forever and always be a muse to anyone. Everything’s fleeting in life, like every, single, solitary thing…"

- "My mom says that I was always making things. But clothing? Not so much. Clothing is disposable; it’s made out of fibers. Jewelry is alchemy: throw it in the bottom of the ocean, it’s still there. And trends are scary. I think they totally hold us by golden handcuffs. It’s really unfortunate that women feel…that we have this desire to covet things that might personify something we’re trying to gain access to. But it’s like, you can’t get the access to it without the experience, itself."

- "I think beauty is all in your head at the end of the day. I’m a hippie of the heart, because I don’t smell like patchouli. [Laughs] I think that if you’re a hippie you just understand that everything is always bigger than you at any given time; it’s never really about you. There’s always a bigger picture."

- "I don’t have a grand plan with my tattoos, never. I’m the girl who just thinks up something as I’m walk into a tattoo parlor and I’m getting it an hour later. I believe in ornamentation of the body… I believe if you feel it, you should just do it. Don’t overanalyze anything in life too much—you’ll make yourself crazy." 

[Read the whole fascinating interview on Into the Gloss.]

[Image sources here, here and here.]

Same flavor, different powerhouse.  I'm leaving you with Janis to inspire your afternoon.
(I do believe Ms. Erin would approve.)  


Sunday, 16 March 2014

continental drift

It's been a while since I tangoed with these old keys.  Two-faced Time - that rebel, that devil - has been perfecting its frenetic chop-change between days gone in minutes and minutes lasting days.  You see, we've boxed up all our 'remember whens', donated all our 'what's this froms' and set our loaded packs on one last time. (For the time being.) 

Half a decade.  Half a decade away from my native shores.  Half a decade of city-country-crossroad-culture-career-circumstance-crusade-corollary-craft-craze-curiosity-careening.  Of new dialects turned familiar, of novel foods becoming everyday, of questions I hadn't known to ask being answered, of decidedly different ways and means simply becoming ways and means.  Of stepping outside my reality, my point of experience.  It's been half a decade of drift, one lesson and continent to the next.  And what a half a decade it was - enjoyed, educated, emboldened, enlightened. And now,


It's back to the fifty nifty, the semi-prodigal daughter (my extravagance was miles, not pennies) returning to learn her future.  An unblemished slate, not marred with set plans or careers or locations.  Our oyster, America!  Time to make a home in a home, get a job I aim to keep, keep my thinking global but my energies local.  

The difference in a nomad and a traveler?  A point of return. The privilege of being local.  Having your near and dear actually be... near. We're making the shift.  

How do I feel?  Thrilled, nostalgic, apprehensive, hopeful, apathetic, intrigued, ambitious, tired, reluctant, enthusiastic, positive, anxious, energized, optimistic.


Lucky there's no cap on emotions.  

'You're outta here kid.  You've had one too many.'

But the sign on the door didn't say I couldn't mix.  No surgeon general warned me five a day's okay, but fifty's overindulgence.  We are back in the Land of Plenty.

Fortunate then, to be welcomed back to Plenty with plentiful tunes from those cool cats striving to keep Austin weird. Tip of the hat to you, SXSW, for easing the entry with closed eyes, local brews, and rhythms that won their conquest for my [e]motion.  Good people, good music, good to be back.

[Sorry no camera has accompanied the journey to our new land of my youth, but the phone tries, it tries.]

One for the road from my favorites of the weekend, Leftover Cuties.  Swoon over that so musically swoonable trumpeting accordionist with me.

- xx