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I Would Title This: “What? Did I Ask For Caviar?”

Gala Moody once again getting the pervy fetish down on the first pose of the day.

Gala Moody, Franziska Bachoven, at Les Jardins d'Épicure, Paris, for Y/Project 2018, photographed by Arnaud Lajeunie
Gala Moody, Franziska Bachoven, at Les Jardins d'Épicure, Paris, for Y/Project 2018, photographed by Arnaud Lajeunie

Gallery

Ermelerhaus

There seem to be a lot of Baroque merchant palaces I am visiting lately. Admittedly the centre of Bologna is unavoidable for these; Berlin on the other hand tends more to the vast architecture plus formal gardens. So I was surprised when arriving at a hotel in Wallstr, the façade of which is of that horribly generic post-war German construction that it hid a Rococo gem. One that wasn’t even built on that land, according to the hotel website, but was moved there from its former, 17th century location.

I was there to tie a model for a photo shoot, the photographer Boris Krajl had contacted me via Dasniya. In-between the shibari, I wandered and took some photos. On the walls curiously, were drawings of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s wrapping of buildings – architectural shibari. One of them was the Sydney Opera House.

Reading: William Gibson – Zero History

William Gibson — Zero History
William Gibson — Zero History

antwerpen

A train to Antwerpen with no ticket despite my attempts to buy one. Thirty minutes in which I think upon what I like about living in Europe. Sleeping. Thirty minutes to a new city as intriguing as Brussels or… that a short trip can take me somewhere new.

I arrive. Find chocolate. Walk. Admire the architecture, reminding me of Amsterdam, along with beautiful towers of Art Deco and other edifices laced with Art Nouveau. The Centraal Station for example, one of such beauty. Well, me, I do have a fondness for train stations and airports. Bus terminals tend to be the shabby best-left-unmentioned cousins, as perhaps evinced by the name terminal instead of station.

I walk towards fashion. Yoji Yamamoto, with exquisite felted wool trousers, skirts, jackets, Dries van Norten … I look for Anna Demeulemeester, but fail, though wander near the canal. I find Walter van Beirendonck, but struggle to find my way into the old carpark. Later I do, and exit, with a scarf. Thinking of Daniel.

Later still, I find my way east to Troubleyn. My reason for venturing to Antwerp, to see Orgy of Tolerance (I shall try and write of that elsewhere). I exit the toilet and find Ivo standing there. Later again, it rains, a phenomenal deluge turning highways into small lakes, we pass through in hazes of mist and opaqueness.

a shop sign in antwerpen
a shop sign in antwerpen
w23a1l12t20er//…
w23a1l12t20er//…

reading: business cards – the art of saying hello

business cards – the art of saying hello
business cards – the art of saying hello

reading: kerstin finger – tape: an excursion through the world of adhesive tapes

tape: an excursion through the world of adhesive tapes
tape: an excursion through the world of adhesive tapes

reading: matilda mcquaid – extreme textiles

matilda mcquaid – extreme textiles
matilda mcquaid – extreme textiles

helinski bike courier porn

Ok, so I’m reblogging, get over it. Anyway it’s about Helsinki, the city I almost went to last year for a weekend of smut with a washed-up old choreographer who possibly is reading this and needs it impressed on him that one email in a year isn’t romantic, even by the standards of your barbarian isle. So, back to Helsinki, where bike couriers, who, like dancers possess the innate avant-fashion style fashion aspires to and is always late.

I always miss my bike when I’m not in Melbourne, the closest I’ve come to the same feeling is riding scooters in Taipei or catching a motorbike taxi in Guangzhou. Both these means of transport understand that traffic flows like water, a concept drivers in Melbourne fail to grasp, having similarities with rockfalls and avalanches. A body of moving cars has a language to how it moves, a predictability like a torrent cascading through rapids. That feeling of sliding through traffic, and the aliveness I feel every time I start pedaling, no matter how tired I am, is one of the greatest love affairs of my life.

There’s more to riding a fixed gear than purely the madness of travelling at high speeds in downtown traffic, without brakes. It’s the simplicity of the bicycle and the pedalling movement that makes it special. These guys have a fluidity of movement through traffic which means that they can make really quick decisions.

People who cycle a lot in cities often say that cars seem like personalities in their own right, the person behind the wheel is non-existant. Cars follow their own rules and logic, and by understanding that logic couriers gain a belief and a confidence that they can out-think or out-manoeuver a car. It was this confidence that amazed me, the intuitive trust that a gap will appear in traffic which the courier can slip through without slowing down. Later, when I asked if they ever rode wearing helmets, one of them replied we don’t come to work to crash.

— PingMag

helsinki bike courier
helsinki bike courier

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dance like you’re drinking beer … or something

This is more of an exercise in embarrassment plus occasional gloating than a real post. Firstly there was the birthday dinner for Cornelia at the Thai place Ah Hua near Lange Strasse, which was very 热情, and made me miss Guangzhou alot, or maybe Bangkok, where I only spent 20 minutes in the airport. Anyway excellent food, fine beer, lots of laughing and poor behaviour.

Last night it was Christa De Carouge’s show for her new season clothes, which we were all modelling/doing performance art for. Plenty of giant white kimonos and corpse-paint, and me wielding a giant 功夫 fighting fan, and as usual slopping around in dirty water. There were lots of exceptionally well-dressed (in de Carouge) people watching, and then eating and drinking rustic food, which is sausage, bread, soup … mmm … pastries … and of course trying on and buying the new season items.

We didn’t come away empty-handed either, and I am now in possession of a fine pair of Crista De Carouge black microfibre pants, custom-made just for me. The material and stitching is like something out of a WIlliam Gibson novel. But rather than gloating, a label is worth a thousand words.

christa de carouge
christa de carouge
happy birthday cornelia :o)
happy birthday cornelia :o)

christa de carouge

She’s kinda like a Swiss Issey Miyaki, whose idea of a good time is schlepping around the scrappier parts of western China photographing Tibetan Buddhists on their pilgrimages, and her clothes don’t have price-tags which terrifies me, but her shop is just beautiful and the day we were rehearsing outside, when it was cold grey and raining I thought her big wool scarves were the best thing in the world. She’s having a – haha – fashion show this Friday, in which none of her new clothes will be seen.

nomad sleeping bag
nomad sleeping bag