"Tavi?"

Ok, so, just a quick one, but I was in London yesterday (more of which in a related post in time) and as I was wandering through an active studio exhibition upon a table of promotional cards I saw this -

Pin-up Baby by Esra Roise

Which couldn't help reminding me of this. Which comes from this. Which I thought was even more of a rip off than, well, this!! Just a thought.

'Risk is good for the soul'

Rob Ryan is the coolest, wildy-haired, paper cutter I have ever met. Yes met. I forgot how to use the ticket machines, stuck my head in a bum hole, played catch up with an old friend, and then, today, I met Mr Robert Ryan.

For Rob Ryan does indeed exude cool (see pic below). Not in a I-dressed-for-the-occasion way like many of the younguns darting about the Pick Me Up Contemporary Graphic Art Fair busily but orderly print-screening at Somerset House.

The work on sale and the work being churned out while you watch is vibrant and impressive, but holds nothing on the wonder of Ryan Town. Now he has been there in his makeshift studio for a few days he looked relaxed enough, although there was a tangible taste in the air of agitation, like watching an animal pace its cage at the zoo. We skirted along, almost against, the walls so densely covered with I doubt every single sketch & piece of inspiration of his work but still, enough to give you an idea. This man has found love. And if he hasn't, if it is all just fabricated, then he's a damn good pseudo romantic.

A3 card cut to within an inch of its life that looks far more fragile than it is (which I suppose is the point; the emotive sentences Rob Ryan etches into his work are both delicate and powerful, fragile and strong.) just begs to be touched (which we did - don't tell him, please). Though we did wonder if he has got to that point where he can just sit back and survey; we noticed how there were a lot of girls blue-tacking and unblue-tacking and printing and cutting, and how exactly one might get the job as one of Rob Ryans' personal minions. What pressure though, Christ! If you've seen any of Rob Ryan's work you will know what I mean...here's a taster.

above: busy little bees.

above: cool as cucumber art students.

above: example of students work.

above: The offending hole.

There he is, give us a smile. Thanks Rob.

"OTHER PLANETS CANNOT BE AS BEAUTIFUL AS THIS ONE"

Dear FHM, How do you get yourself a job like that?

So, a while ago I started thinking it might be interesting to do a bit of investigative journalism into a subject that I came across, well, more accurately, was sick across (or is that unnecessary info?) as I was idling through a copy of FHM. This particular edition had been bequeathed to me after it had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and I had drunk more red wine than my body could contain. Though it was not as badly damaged that you couldn't still read it, because, who reads vomit covered magazines. That's just revolting. I digress.

I was caught by the image below. It reminded me of a Glamour, or a Cosmo magazine I had read before in which I'd witnessed a triptych of Barbie and Ken in wildly inappropriate, though helpfully demonstrative positions. It was crude and laughable and you can imagine that the office had a droll little giggle while photographing them. However, the illustration in FHM struck me as somewhat above the bar of expected content, and so I went about finding out exactly who had done it, so to speak.

My research eventually led me to a website and a conversation about sex drawing and washing up mainly. I called the mobile number brashly left on the aforementioned website assuming it would be a fake at best, a sex-line at worst, or is that the other way round.

After no more than three rings the phone is picked up with a boisterous "Hello".

"Uh..." I piped up, realising too late that I did not know this man's real name, that I had no plan of action, or any questions lined up to ask him, even if this was indeed the perpetrator of 'The Swing'. "Cowface?"

"Yes" Returned the voice, entirely unperturbed, as if he often had random people calling him up, which I suppose he might well have, leaving his number lying about willy nilly on the internet.

"Um, I just wanted to ask you some questions," trying now to sound a bit more authoritative but not quite PCC inquisition, "about your drawing for FHM."

There was some banging in the background during the phone call until he informed me he was in the midst of an unholy stack of washing up. I asked if it would be Ok to email him some questions, he said it would be, and although this initial contact, surreal as it was, seemed promising, he never emailed back.

...But, I am now following his blog (mwah ha ha), which seems more lovingly tended than his website, and although I have become a fan of his work in general, it is not over between us. Mr Cowface, expect a barrage (Wonderful word, Barrage. noun. An overwhelming, concentrated outpouring of linguistic communication.) of emails to readdress this poorly handled attempt at journalism.

N.B. I should probably mention that if Mr Cowface, as I think he now prefers to be known, has in actual fact since returned my email it has probably been lost in the ether of my University Intranet that I can no longer access.

Inspiration // or // I wish I knew a Flamingo

Courtesy of myzoetrope.com, which is kind of odd, but the dock image reminds me of where I went to University.

I am wondering if it would be worth investing in a creative writing course, as:

1. I am...well, inarticulate, forgetful, generally speechless...but, INCREASINGLY! That's the word!! Increasingly concerning myself (blog) with uninteresting and dry subject matter (even after seeing this), which doesn't give me much hope for the state of my brain.

2. This means I am disregarding the importance, and purpose, of my very first post, being that one must talk little and listen much thus trying to encourage myself only to write about things that are worth committing to paper that I have heard, seen, read somewhere else.

3. Being perfectly in situ to chip into being a publishable story from my depths makes me wonder if I shouldn't just do it. Except of course as soon as I get any inspiration I return to spill it all out only for it to stop. It is as if a thick steel guillotine has come down, beheading my baby thus executing any chance of me being able to nurture it into its beautiful, healthy, fully grown form.

Yodas' "there is no try, only do" mocks me as I sit here moaning into a blog to escape an unfinished sentence on Word. I am physically shaking, inside and one hand, my left one. I realised I was gritting my teeth too. It's pathetic really. I thought taking my dog for a walk earlier would revive me but it's sort of scared the life out of me! What do you do with that...

To worry about mucking things up, not being good enough, or having regrets is to live constantly looking behind you. Look in front of you, life is good.

The Avett Brothers – All My Mistakes

Let me just get comfy

Occasional Chairs. One of life's overlooked wonders.

A bold statement, but I believe every home should have one. I have been looking to acquire one for some time now. Short of visiting every charity shop in my area, posting an advert on gumtree, or sifting through the offerings of freecycle, occasional chairs, or just regular ol' armchairs if you like, can be quite an expensive purchase.

I don't want a particularly fancy one. All I require is wings, legs, and a square enough, comfy enough seat cushion to melt into. I know you can get ornate Rococo and Baroque style ones, which is all very nice and silky but not quite it. You can get funky retro ones, but they tend to come with a certain itchiness. And then of course you can get into the whole upholstering fiasco.

The whole idea is of simplicity. A plain, unassuming, inconspicuous armchair. Not an armchair that comes as a set with a three piece suite. A stand alone, winged, chair. That would make me very happy...and cosy.

Looking deceptively uncomfortable, more likely the case is that it is not...

Easy Listening?

[Soft & Fresh] CocoRosie – Lemonade

After being sucked into the odd world of Bianca and Sierre Casady through the bittersweet By Your Side ("I'd wear your black eyes, bake you apple pies"), I have been trying in vain to find another one of their songs to like let alone rival. This may be it.

[Cover] Kid CuDi – Pursuit of Happiness (Barbara Cover)

Having heard this cover before the original I am obviously biased in a "but I loved you first" way, however, this version is incurably cool. I used a naff word. There goes another one. Apologies.

Dark Dark Dark| Bright Bright Bright [Audio] | The Maroon Cafe

We like it because it is echo-y and epic. Sounds like how I thought Zooey Deschanel's band would sound, but better.

Florence and The Machine – Swimming

From the Limited Edition Box Set of Lungs. All I could think of was the Maccabees' Latchmere upon hearing this, but obviously the only link is the water themed content. I love that Florence songs just keep coming out of the woodwork, like skin at the first signs of summer, but unlike ghost-like torsos and knobbly knees, they never disappoint.

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I can't pretend I am not jealous of those salivating with glee at the Glastonbury 2010 line-up, or that I am not selecting fence-scaling equipment from halfords.com.

I feel like i've just been sick & someone is rubbing my nose in it.

Sorry

I have just found this on a tumblr blog and thought it poignant enough to share.

I Don't Know Sylvia

No matter which way you shoot these shorts there is something not quite normal about them.

If I were to suggest Topshop jump on the bandwagon of other indie retailers and start naming their products I would expect this garment to be named Sylvia. Something about the butterflies, soft inky print, feminine pleating, and off white-ness remind me of heroine of 80's rom-com '3 men and a baby'...Sylvia.

Try as I might to justify their purchase, and love them as I do, I am still somewhat wary of them. I don't think they will be faithful to me as you hope a statement buy would. They should caress my thighs in a way that coos "I will compliment any top you wear me with, give the illusion of long legs, accentuate your figure, and be the envy of all run of the mill a-line skirts". Except they don't quite.

What they do do is make me feel the excitement of dressing up clothes, that if I wore them to bed I would be pyjama chic, that if this were the 80's I would wear them with a wide brimmed hat and baggy vest on the beach perhaps. But I was born in the 80's, and I am not fearless.

Damn that 13 year old's cool

When you almost fastidiously follow a young teens fashion trajectory rather than the pages of Vogue or Topshop Billboards. When the image of the women on your t-shirt is prettier than you are. When your tan begins to fade back into your white triangles like they never were, you have to focus on something positive in your life...

...Like a confirmation booking of a Hot Air Balloon Flight in the early evening of a spring day.