Jumpsuit: Promiss | Chunky cardigan: Made by my mum | Hat: Primark | Necklace: Made by me | Shoes: H&M | Bag: Charity shop
These pictures were taken in Gemeentemuseum Den Haag. This was the weird bit of the exhibition (Romantic Fashions), whereby the set up suddenly incorperated with another exhibition (as if they didn't had enough space to put these dresses alongside the others...). So suddenly you were walking in the bright eyes of Van Gogh, Degas, Manet and other big names. Oh well, it doesn't matter really, just look at that craftsmanship! My oh my, if just one of those dresses were on my body, I'd be a happy chap... (and if just one of those paintings were hanging on my wall, I'd be a happy chap too...). It's just amazing to see what we can do with fabric, what we succesfully have done with fabric and how that's inspired so many, almost unspeakable things... asdfghjkasldsafdsvsdfdsf.
Love,
Dominique
1. Picture from the last show (autumn/winter 2014) by Frans Molenaar | 2. Yesterday I woke up with this artwork on my window... | 3. Happy birthday Jack!! | 4. Just loved this picture by Nina Leen.
This Monday the sad news came in about the death of Dutch couturier Frans Molenaar. Molenaar was 74 years old and about to start composing his 100th fashion show, which he sadly hasn't been able to finish. He and my mum actually went to the same Fashion school in Amsterdam (he naturally a few semesters earlier than her) and he frequently came to see the shows they'd made.
It's interesting to see how small things can change big things. The death of a couturier (which is naturally a biggie, but like, I didn't personally know him...), the work of nature on your window (which was just on mine, ALL windows were ice-free. Very weird indeed. A good weird, naturally. But still weird) and the aging of your dog.
I cried when I heard about the death of mr Molenaar. Especially because his PA told the newspapers that the day before his passing he assured her that he wasn't going anywhere yet. I mean, that's just sad... The same goes with happy things that makes you realize the sad thing that it entails. Yesterday was the 2nd birthday of the cutest thing alive (don't argue with me on that), which incidently means that exactly 3 months from now my grandma passed away (a very uplifting post this is, indeed. Sorry). And it's the most alienating thought to think that it's already been TWO bloody years since that happening (although happening makes it sounds -inappropriately- as something exciting, but in lack of brain capacity we'll just role with it...). It's so weird to think of something that's gone and still has so much, every day, influence on what I say and do and who I generally am.
Typing about things that are gone -an even more inappropriate way of trying to say what I want say- yesterday morning I woke up with the most beautiful frozen artwork I've seen in quite a long time. I now just imagine a signature being signed under the work by the wind as if it is no biggie (but it is obviously a big biggie).
It made me aware of the beauty that just lays there before our eyes. Or better said: it took me down from my thoughts and actually made me look at something since a long time. It's important to do that and stupid small things as 'ice on a window' can make you see things differently. I saw things differently that day (not anymore, but that day I did). It makes me want to go and explore the world (the world naturally being 'not too far from my house, but not my house...', the garden it is! (that's a joke which will probably be closer to the truth than to not the truth (I don't know how to use my words today, I'm sorry. Again)). But still a joke. haha. ha. ha.).
In other news:
I've watched a documentary about 80's Top of the Pops and am now obsessing over it, I've been moving bits and bops around in my room (I'm typing these words on an antique French table, OooOOoohh fancy (naturally I'm typing these words on a computer which stands on an antique French table, which is still pretty fancy)). I wish I could go shopping in Harajuku, but instead I've got a fun week filled with exams and papers and what not. Whoop whoop. (not as if I'd go shopping in Harajuku if I didn't had exams or anything. Just saying. GET REAL. Joke. Ha. ha. ha. (sorry)).
Love,
Dominique
This palette originated from my mother's makeup bag. The minute I saw it, I knew it'd be mine. Not because the quality's amazing, or the colours overwhelming (although I really like the darkest brown for my brows), but it'd be enough to satisfy me (it being that I ain't got nothing like it). For now. This actual palette depicted isn't 'the original' from my mother's makeup bag. After I'd stolen hers she bought a new one. Only my darkest brown has melted before the sun, so I've swopped them. Owh yeah, you better watch out, you better not cry, because oherwise you loose two eyeshadow palettes. And die. Mwahahahahaha.
As stated, the colours aren't the best pigmented and will need some layering before it will stay on your eyes (or brows). The colours are quite shimmery and gradiate from light to dark. The lightest colour is very yellowy, while the rest has more of a red undertone to them. It doesn't really bother me much, except for the third colour from left which absolutely does no favours on my eyes.
My most used colours are the darkest brown and the lightest colour (and in replacement of that in my 'original palette' the lightest colour next to the lightest colour. Which in some way I start to prefer over the lightest colour because it's more pink and less harsh on my face). The texture of the eyeshadow is very light, which unfortunately means that the coverage is also very minimal. You can layer the colour, however you've got to be aware that sometimes it looks a bit patchy. Nonetheless I'm quite fond of my little palette. It won't break the bank and you, or atleast I, get a lot of use out of it. And in the end that's all you really want, right?
Love,
Dominique
Gilet: Made by my mum | Blouse: H&M | Trousers: Vanilia | Hat: Primark | Shoes: H&M | Bag: Charity shop | Necklace: Local antiquities shop
I wore this white number on the 2nd of January. I've noted the day as it was the first time this year that I wore 'not my PJs'. It's funny how a new year always makes me aware of the actions I undertake. Just moments after we'd raised our glass (or better said cup), I burped. The first of the year. Then again. Second. And again. Third. I really shouldn't have eaten that last cookie. That said, at the end of the year I'll have no idea how many burps I've released into the world. However, at this exact moment I'll be able to tell you the precise number (which I'm not going to share with y'all because 1] It's a rather shamefully high number and 2] TMI, my friends, TMI).
There's a man in Britain who counts sneezes and records all of them in a notebook with commentary (sturdy, quite enjoyable etc). He's got an archive withholding the information of his sneezes and thereby he can exactly recollect the moment of the sneeze. When asked if he had a favourite sneeze, he could answer with an exact date, time and commentary as to why he very much enjoyed that sneeze. Isn't that just amazing and slightly scary and very much crazy??? Now I wouldn't say that I'll keep track of every burp that I let loose, because do I want to know the collective number? Not really. But it comes to show all the (little) things we do that'll be locked away into the recollection of actually doing it. I don't personally think that being enable to give a number to sneezes and burps are of high need or wanting, but it can give you an insight of the average proceedings of life. And no, that isn't giving too much credit to counting sneezes and burps. *burps*
Love,
Dominique
