So, I like to check the blog My Parents Were Awesome, mostly to get all nostalgic and gooey inside. When I saw that they were having a contest, I decided that I must enter. I must win! I did.
The photo is of my momma and my sisters' father, Peter. They were on vacation in Acapulco and they just look like the two happiest people on the planet.
My Parents Were Awesome
Songwriting at Its Best
Sometimes, someone has the balls to speak the truth. Behold, the truth:
Gotye- Somebody That I Used To Know (feat. Kimbra)- official film clip from Gotye on Vimeo.
On Passing
Each artist, to me, is a beautiful individual. With that being said, there are only a few whom which I would claim to inspire me. Admire, certainly there are thousands. Inspired, there are few: Velazquez, Dix, Hoch, Rubens, Jenny Saville, Sargent, Freud. Lucian Freud was an incredible artist and I just wanted to do a little post (mortem) to say thanks.
Oh July, July
July is starting to grow on me. I was the biggest hater of summer. Hatin' till the cows came home. Maybe it's because I'm getting old and moving slower and the heat is affecting me the same way it used to. Maybe it's because my bunk thyroid is regulated now, like putting a 160 degree thermostat in. I'm better regulated. Whatever it is, I'm almost liking it - almost.
Shirt // J. Crew on sale from $98 to $17 - woo
Shorts // Yanuks that I chopped
Shoes // Kork-Ease
Today and on Friday, I was summoned by the gorgeous and wonderful, Janelle Corey, make-up genius, to style some photoshoots. I really can't think of a better thing to do all day than dress beautiful people in clothing of my choice. We worked with a super talented photographer, Jozef Mitchell. It's a new endeavor for me and who knows where it will lead. In the meantime I'm happy to be a part of it all.
Here are some of his shots and then one of Jozef and the amazing model, Tanner McLaughlin and the one in the purple suit is Caitlin Shannahan Newton. 
If My Memory Serves Me Well
If my memory serves me well, it's a good day. I realize I have the damnedest time trying to remember past events. Unless - I have taken a photo of myself on that given day. For some reason, remembering what I was wearing on a particular day helps me immensely. I gather it's because what I'm wearing on a day is, in turn, also indicative of all sorts of factors: weather, mood, health, etc. Also, since I started doing this when I was 26, and now I'm 30 *gasp*, it should be an interesting comparison. So, with the help from a gentle reminder from Christy, I'm back, documenting what I wear. Like it or not.
Dress: thrifted & shortened
Shoes: Newport News
Bangle: F21
Negative Space & Summer
Summer is like disappearing. Or melting. Or just trying to be one with the earth. Winter is about figuring out ways to artificially live (at least in climates with snow). Summer is about remembering how to live with what you've got. Which had me thinking about negative space. It's one of those standard-issue thoughts they dangle in your face all throughout art school. So, here's my official take on it, along with a mixtape:
Sometimes you want to wear something that feels as if you're not wearing anything at all. It's the inherent oxymoron that is negative space that brings us to want to discover its reality. Therein lies the allure of it all.
When the Sun Melts Negative Spaces
Gang Gang Dance : MIndkilla
Sore Losers : 8587 Birthday
The Future of the Ghost : 16
Broken Social Scene : Sentimental X's
Bon Iver : Wash.
TV on the Radio : The New Cannonball Blues
Los Super Elegantes : Je Suis Bien
PS I Love You : Facelove
Laserfang : Alan Stanwyk
Bob Dylan : Spanish Boots of Leather
*right click to download & save - eff yea!
Getting Ahead of Myself or Behind Myself. Either Way Will You Back Me Up?
I've been so all over the place lately. I feel that I have learned something, as of late: I love routine. I never, NEVER, thought I'd hear myself utter even the thought of order, routine, etc. However, since quitting my, very routine, job in March, I'm finding that routine is what I miss most. The self-employed say it all the time, and it's true - setting a schedule for yourself is hard. I need to get vigilant about it. I'm also finding that routine is what this blog is missing. One routine slipped away and it pulled all the order out of my life. The Capricorn bits of me are about to kick my own ass in to shape. Watch out world, move over chaos - here comes the tidiest little girl on the planet.
I have this new analogy. I'm taking life like a well-packed suitcase or backpack. When you pack well, you fit more things, find things easily, things don't wrinkle, everything is organized. A messy suitcase leaves you flustered, unorganized, and you find that you can't fit half of what you should be able to cram into that thing. This is my new outlook on time management. With the right amount of order, one can pack all they need in a day, or week, or year, and hopefully, in this lifetime.
So, point being, I forgot to mention that I even got my website up and running. Check her out: http://daniellemariott.com and tell me what you think.
XOXO
BRUNOpolo Update
Oh Hey! There's plenty in shop and there are some sweet finds. If you see something you like, don't hesitate to message us and see if we can strike a deal! Woo!
Mother.
She smelled of sandalwood and mist. However, crisp. I feared washing her clothes. Her scent was the last tangible sense I could hold onto. Eventually, it faded and I haven't smelled it since. Until I washed a Wolford bodysuit. It tripped me up, like seeing something move out of the corner of your eye. I clutched the sheer black scrap of fabric and hugged it to my nose. Amazing. There it was: that sandalwood smell. Just from the smell you could guess, without ever knowing her, that her skin was olive toned, smooth, and almost translucent and dewey. I could never wear this garment in fear that it would, in turn, smell like me. My mother, preserved olfaction.
There were other atrocities of reverence and nostalgia: the pair of YSL 6 1/2 sized shoes desperately too small for my 8 1/2 sized foot. They perch on my bookcase, like bookends. Only strong enough to hold up the Hannah Hoch book she had given me as a gift to inspire me when I was 15.
Her collection of Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses, again, too small for my broad, swimmer's frame. Hung waifs, awaiting a low-tide of a person to embody them.
The various silk blouses she designed in the 90s - stained, missing buttons, abandoned. Unworn since quitting my office job.
2 watches that have both since stopped ticking. One, a black Seiko from the 80s. I wore it daily since her death. I'm sure it's in need of a new battery. The other, a gold Bulova from the 70s. It was the watch she wore the day I was born.
That very watch stopped the second I was born. The same second my mother's heart stopped. The second my heart stopped. We began beating again, in unison. The watch didn't start ticking again until I brought it home after her death. Its failure to function as of late, seems to me, as a sign to move on. Time for me to go and buy my own damn watch.
Color Parted
I love this. Do I have the balls to do it? We'll see. I think I'd go for a bright fuchsia though. OK, I've just mustered the gusto. Watch out for my pink part, coming to a Spring near you.
The Facts of Love (Infographic)
An infographic about everyone's favorite holiday (at least it's mine). Compiled by Joe Faux and myself. Design by Joe.
Fashionable Parrot
Finally. Thank you Max Mara for making my parrot the new "it" accessory. Now, if Fletcher would only let me tote him around like that. I might lose a finger. It would be so worth it.
I'm very much so enjoying this campaign. Jacquelyn Jablonski is adorably sexy and the parrots and the patterns and everything about it is sort of 70s, sort of awesome, and sort of what I want to be wearing right now.
Take me somewhere tropical. Plez.
Until then, Fletcher and I will practice the art of him letting me treat him like a toy. 
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