I'm posting this from our bedroom in London, with the windows open and the breeze blowing the white curtains. It's a perfect day outside: crisp, almost cool but warm in the sun. We're leaving for holiday tomorrow: to the end of Long Island. Home. Swimming, sunshine, family, dinner on the deck. Thinking about what to pack, I uncovered some old photos - from my dad's Pentax, pre-blog, pre-digital - and am struck by how my style just never changes. Same haircut. Wish I'd kept these orange trousers, though: he had bought them in a shop in Tarifa, didn't like them, I wore them for a while, but they were too... orange.
Shot in one of the white towns in Andalusia.. maybe five years ago. Or, more.
Having never met Amy Winehouse, I can't tell you any anecdotes*, nor take credit for any of the photos in this tribute - apart from doing some painterly things to the last shot in this post. While looking around online for images and youtube videos, I found that most of the images of Amy Winehouse were.. exploitive. Catching her looking bad, out of it... you can do that with anyone, you know. I've shot people and caught them in half blink and they don't look great. For someone who lived her light in the spotlight, it seemed the hunger for her looking her worst was.. oh it's just so sad. The whole thing.
*(But Russell Brand did: and he told it beautifully, here, as just retweeted by a friend).
She was only 27: it seemed she was around so long, and had disappeared from public view for so long, but like other stars who burned brightly, and briefly, she seemed to cram a lot of living into such a short time (did you know that everyone who died young - Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Kobain, Jim Morrison.. ALL 27). We always knew she wouldn't last forever, although we hoped she would - which is perhaps why her vulnerability mixed with her seeming toughness to make something that was so tragic, but also quite beautiful. And her taste in music, her friendship with the brilliant producer Mark Ronson, the musicians she worked with..
It wasn't just her talent: she also had such a strong brand. Was she a style icon? I can't tell. She wasn't a role model, like an Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe or Jackie Kennedy.. but the way she took certain iconic ideas of the Sixties Motown girls.. the big eyeliner, bee hive hair, but it certainly wasn't period dressing. The shorts, tees.. what can I say. She was her own person. The love child of Diana Ross and Billie Holiday. I'd have loved to see her do a remake of Lady Sings the Blues.
My last video for this little tribute is, ironically, from a concert sponsored by our new, current, all time favourite phone company, Vodaphone. We can't sing Vodaphone's praises enough. And it was at Somerset House: home to London Fashion Week. This is what Freja, who uploaded the video, said:
"Amy Winehouse live performance "Back To Black", Vodafone Somerset House, 2007. She was sober, sounded amazing, and this is really impressive and amazing performance. She insert a part of Shangri - Las song "Remember (Walking In The Sand)" during the song, as she often does."
Someone wrote that she said if she died today, she'd be happy. No regrets, coyote.
And I've just discovered: this North London, white, Jewish, middle class girl's birthday was the day after mine.
Rest in Peace, Amy, though I have a hunch you're still giving them hell, wherever you are. In a voice that's a gift from God.
Amy Jade Winehouse (14 September 1983 – 23 July 2011)
As per previous post ('the girl with the converse sneakers') here she is with her sister, wearing black.
My sister is blonde, I am brunette.
I love my sister, and she loves me, but we are opposite in nature. There were times when my mom dressed us in matching clothes (I remember especially a gorgeous white silk material with huge purple flowers with greenery - my mom somehow had a dress in it, too - we called it our 'purple people eater' dresses). But somehow, the general rule was that blondes wore shades of blue, and brunettes the red/pink area. I'm fine on the pink front, but I 'don't do red'. I also remember one time - we were teenagers - she wanted to borrow a sweater and I didn't want her to because her bosoms were bigger than mine (still are, by a cup size), and I didn't want her to stretch it out. Floods of tears ensued.
Actually, come to think of it: a lot of my favourite clothes now are hand me downs from my kid sister. A pale pink 'poorboy' turtle neck, for example - which I might just wear today! It's cold enough.
If all goes according to plan, we'll all be together in one week's time. Can't wait!
Must run. Off to see a dear dear Italian friend who is visiting from Rome - a virtual sister. Have a lovely Friday, sisters. Shot - as before - at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
The girl from the previous post, with the butterfly tattoo, is named Natasha. And her friend (who you haven't yet seen) is named Rose. And Natasha has a rose tattoo. Just one of life's many coincidences.
The other coincidence is I saw this dress somewhere, Alexa Chung was wearing it at a festival recently, and it was Topshop. Hooray! Here it is: the 'cream flower crochet insert sundress', for £34. If I wasn't married, could make my own shopping decisions, and didn't already have too many dresses, I'd buy it in a heartbeat. I could have sworn I did a post about this dress - maybe not. Anyway, isn't it amazing. That's all, really, not much else to say: Natasha's tattoos, top to toe.
Shot in May, at the V&A.
*(My post title was a toss up between this and 'the girl in the cream flower topshop crochet insert sundress', but it's late, and that seemed a bit... long)
Because of the rain, I found myself home and realised that Hackgate was live on TV. Was actually tweeting to Poppy (who wasn't near a TV, and offered extra points for any tweets that combined humour and accuracy successfully) that I wasn't finding evidence of either. She tweeted that she was asked to switch off her phone, just when all hell broke loose.
By the time you're reading this, you'll no doubt have seen the footage of the ever stylish Wendi Murdoch (to be played by Lucy Liu in the film) sending a swift right hook (or was it left? It looked right) to the perpetrator of the custard pie. But what I couldn't get over was that minutes earlier, I was getting a bit bored during the slow parts, and my mind was wandering to the combination of her pink jacket, with a bit of blue blouse peeking through, and thinking that I hadn't seen that combination since Jackie's infamous blue suit, which will forever be linked in our collective psyche with President Kennedy's assassination - the day our world, as Americans, changed forever.
Say what you will about Hackgate - and Rebecca Brooks is speaking now, and I don't have a lot of time for that woman, personally - but I was very moved with the immediate action that Wendi Murdoch took. Talk is cheap but that was the behaviour of someone who loves her husband deeply, unconditionally: it was the most honest thing I saw in that courtroom.
It also surprised me - how instantly I felt compassion for Rupert Murdoch. I was, already, at times, but the custard pie clinched it for me. As the other Rebecca Brooks - the one who lives in New England and unwittingly became something of a twitter sensation here - just asked: 'Wow. Doesn't Parliament have security? Why are people allowed to lunge at Murdoch in the middle of his testimony?' And I don't have an answer. You can say what you want about the Murdoch empire, but I was greatly moved with the dignity and - as people have said to him - courage, that he continued with the investigation. That's class.
I've played around in photoshop - multitasking while following twitter AND the BBC coverage (which is still on)and made these images, which I shot off the TV and lifted from the internet, into kind of Impressionist Paintings. And, as is true with most things in life, things are often perceived differently when you look at them closely, in detail, and then stand back to see the bigger picture.
If you'd like to read more about the history of Jackie's pink suit, click here.
Typing this in haste because Mr. Dot said Panorama is about to start - and it's on the Hacking Scandal, which for some reason, altho it's not funny.. I can't explain, the name keeps reminding me of Dorking. (No offence to anyone reading this who resides there). It's like the love child of Hackney and Dorking.
I've got the most gorgeous shade of Greek blue paint (non water soluble, mind you) all over myself - legs, arms, face, hair - having been doing some enthusiastic home improvement this afternoon and evening. And I can't stop thinking about Charlie Gilmour, in prison. And thinking about all the stupid things I've done in my life that luckily, I did not get imprisoned for. At least I didn't get a tattoo.
Do you have one? May I ask - what? And where?
I'd love to show you Joni Mitchell singing the song of my post title - from the Scorcese film, The Last Waltz, which I saw recently, but it's embedded by request. So CLICK HERE to see it. She's wearing a purple leotard - so bang on trend. Today I met up with some friends and at least 50% of us we wearing a combination of purple, plum, and navy. It must be this monsoon weather: it's so.. tropical.
It is so quiet right now: my husband is next to me in bed, just the sound of him turning the pages of the Sunday Times.. occasionally a car passes somewhere, but it sounds more like waves on the shore.. the soft wet hushed sounds of a rainy summer day. It doesn't feel like there is another soul in this city.
Last night after he fell asleep, I couldn't sleep and was reading from Polly Samson's beautiful collection of short stories, Perfect Lives. I've felt she is a beautiful writer for years, having read other works by her, but I couldn't help feel the irony of the title.
You might have read in the news - it was streaming on twitter - her sweet, gentle son, Charlie Gilmour, was sentenced to 16 months in prison. While she and I are not actual hanging out friends, our lives do overlap: my brother plays keyboards for her husband, David Gilmour. In fact they were one of the first friendly faces I saw, when I ran into them, as one does in a dream, in the first few days that we had moved to London, from NY. It was so surreal: I walked into Bibendum's Oyster Bar, and there they were: Dave looking at me with these wise eyes that seem to bore into my head and read my mind, Polly with her liquid chocolate, gentle, 'girls' girl' eyes. (These are hers, by the way, in the top shot, which I took at her book signing in Hay last month. She is smiling in the shot, but still, even smiling, there always seems to be some kind of sadness.. it's in her writing, too: she just has such a sense of humanity).
There was so much emotion, so many thoughts, going through my mind when I read her beautiful story of a piano tuner late last night. How it must feel, to have a son who made a mistake - a 'moment of idiocy', as he called it - for which he immediately apologised for, took responsibility for, felt ashamed of. Without getting political, and as much as we are supporters of Prince Charles and Camilla.. I'm sorry, this is just my feelings - the punishment doesn't, as they say, fit the crime. The Telegraph article said that he 'had turned to drink and drugs after being rejected by his biological father' (he was adopted by David Gilmour). And I'm sorry, I have to say it, because it's what many of us are thinking: if his parents weren't as high profile and successful as they are, would the sentence be this harsh?
We all revere the Cenotaphs. I didn't even know how to spell the word - had to ask my husband - when I did a post on Remembrance Day. But I can't help feel that not one soldier who fought in the Great War, and died, would have wanted a young man to be jailed for a 'moment of idiocy'. He did not, after all, kill anyone, or commit treason.
And then, the title of a song that David wrote, and recorded and performed with, among other artists, my brother, came into my head (that's my brother on keyboards: dark curly hair, suit and tie - he looks, ironically, similar to Charlie Gilmour at court on Friday):
I thought back to that cold, damp winter's day in 1997 - when seeing two kind faces, as I roamed the strange streets of London, looking for a flat to rent - and realised that Charlie Gilmour would have been six at the time. I don't know him at all - although he was probably part of the whole, extended, modern, blended family that sat behind us recently at the O2 show, watching Dave and Roger Water perform together. And while the brownies I decided to make from scratch were baking, I realised that although we were facebook friends, I wasn't following Polly Samson on twitter, and that's when I saw her tweet "Just buried our old dog Tilly. She was 13 so not unexpected but her timing couldn't have been worse."
(This is not Tilly, by the way. It is our friends Annie and Tim, and their sons', dog Frodo).
Is there anyone out there who has not, in a moment of idiocy, done something that they regret? I can tell you a few stories of my own. I just thank God that I didn't get imprisoned for any of them.
I'm not a mother, so I can't begin to imagine what they must be feeling now. I can't stop thinking of this lovely boy/man, distraught at trying to reach out to his biological father, who only a month ago I saw with his kid sister on his lap, watching his dad play guitar - sitting scared and alone in a jail cell right now. One of the reasons I was afraid to have children was this: I just didn't know how you could bear to let them go.
And then, I read this tweet from Polly: 'My mum is at our house cooking us all Chinese food. And there's an unusually golden light after the rain.'
We are powerless over other people, places, and events. I know that much. But it is what WE do, and the dignity, and grace, the courage, and sometimes, when we can, even humour - how we respond to the blows that are inflicted upon us.. I hope that David and Polly, if they read this, will forgive me for taking photos and 'exploiting' their image like this (and my first thoughts, when I saw this in the paper on Friday, was 'what a great dress, I wonder if it's Victoria Beckham or Roland Mouret), but I'm writing this post this morning with the most profound respect for this family. To seek, even through pain, for the beauty - for the golden light after the rain - is the most inspiring message I can pass on this quiet summer morning.
We were also watching a show on the BBC on my favourite art movement, the Impressionists. Waldemar Januszczak is brilliant and I'd urge you to watch this first show, Gang of Four. I didn't realise, for example, that the name The Impressionists was actually an insult from a critic named Louis Leroy, who was mocking Money's gorgeous, ground breaking painting 'Impression, soleil levant' (Impression, Sunrise).
Another thing Januszczak said last night - which I've always felt - is that the secret of understanding the Impressionists' work is to get as close to the paintings as you are allowed. To see the detail: to understand the.. courage. I can't tell you how many times I've gone to the Tate Modern and sat in front of Monet's Waterlilies, and just gazed. Then I move in close, and it's almost like I'm hallucinating: each time, I see something else. It is moving, always moving, because life is always in a state of flux. And whatever is happening right now - however painful - it will not always be this way. Which is all the more reason to take it all in while we can.
Because, always, and certainly for us yesterday, between the rain and the sadness of the sky, is that golden moment - and it is happening, suddenly now, as I type this - when the clouds part, and the sunshine becomes golden. As Polly retweeted: 'There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in.'
What is it, about summer, heat, sunshine, that makes certain moments.. golden. When you know, AT THE TIME, that you are living in a memory. One that will stay with you all your life - that you will look back at that moment, that snapshot - maybe all the other people in that photograph will be long gone, or perhaps simply gone from your life - and you will think: YES.
Yes, this is all that matters. Being present, here, now, alive.
The day I shot these was just.. GOLDEN. It was so hot, and I was in town - had just met a friend at the V&A - and while I cooled my bare feet in the water, this bunch were frolicking around, posing for each other's photos.. it was all so Gilbert and Sullivan that I suggest you click below while reading this piece.
There was a great series on the BBC recently, called the Age of Glamour. Brought on, ironically, as a result of the Wall Street Crash. One show - which I can't link cause it's gone - was about that golden period between the wars, when the privileged youth in England were on a kind of creative rampage. Dubbed the Bright Young Things, they were all about image, breaking the rules, having fun, and especially, reinventing themselves, and recording it, via the medium of photography.
It was all about image. About self expression, and seeking attention, and getting photographed, being in the papers. Being.. famous. Seen. They were, I feel, the original Self Style Bloggers. Everyone was a star in his or her ascendency.
Funny connections... Mat Buckets (buckets & spades) - who recently graduated! Congrats Mat! - tweeted about the show, and I promised him I'd do this post, which will have to be split into a few - too many shots. And then the gorgeous Imogen left such a good comment and I stopped by HER blog and saw she'd done a gorgeous post, titled.. yup, THESE BRIGHT YOUNG THINGS.
It is totally raining out - grey and cold and wet, real monsoon season in London town - so it felt like the right time to catch up and go back to a memory of sunnier times. Hope you're having a lovely summer weekend, wherever you are. Except if you're in the Southern Hemisphere, of course, in which case, a wintry weekend. Whatever: hope you're creating happy memories, as we speak.
Shot these bright young things in the V&A courtyard. Of course.
There was a time - certainly during my first year of this blog as 'StreetStyle London' - that I'd risk getting run over to catch someone for a photo. Now, like a cat that is no longer a kitten, I'm happier to sleep all day, yawn, bathe myself, and yeah, once in a while, chase a mouse.
Metaphorically speaking. Not literally. I don't chase mice.
But when I saw these two crossing the street.. I don't know whether I'm slowing down cause I'm two years older than when I started my blog, or if that day, I was just feeling a bit shy (it happens). In any case - I only got this one shot.
Have you noticed, in your neck of the woods, that there's a kind of inverse proportion with shoes? It used to be - back in 2009 - that the shoes were the most expensive item - huge platform Acne-esque statement shoes. Drama drama drama, and everything from the ankle up could be pretty bland, or casual. Now, the looks I'm loving the most are dresses, or skirts, with bare legs and Converse. And I'm loving this kind of skirt - it's oh so fifties, so La Dolce Vita. I've got a lovely beige silk striped skirt that I've had forEVER - I so want to wear it now, with converse and a blouse, tucked in and belted. Or, a tee.
I was wearing some of my custom made Jackie O dresses for a few days in a row, with bare legs and my cream coloured Convesre, until I developed huge blisters in my heels. I'd been going sans socks, and Mr. Dot said why don't you wear tennis socks? I thought I wasn't allowed - until on closer inspection, I realised this girl got away with it.
Which was my alternative title choice: The Girl Who Got Away.
When I was young, my mom - bless her - was not one of those mothers who told us how we should dress. I am sure that's why I never have one of those days when I'm trying six million things on and have 'nothing to wear'. She didn't follow fashion like some kind of slave, but - I can see now - by not having any dramas about how we styled ourselves, she gave us a strong sense of fashion confidence. We found our own style.
She did have one rule. It was just something she said in passing, one day. She said we shouldn't mix patterns, because they clashed. I had to ask her a few times, what was a pattern ('You know: dots and plaids and stripes') and the more difficult one - 'what does clash mean'. She probably just eventually gave up and went back to 'wear whatever you like: it's no skin off my nose.'
If it's possible that there is one trend bigger than 'colour blocking' - which I'm not seeing as much of as I'd like, or assumed - it is the sophisticated use of multiple patterns.
Clashing, with confidence.
You might recall, last fall, I did an impromptu series of streetstyle photo shoots for Goodone, an ethical recycled clothing company based in East London. (for example, click here or here or here or here. Or, here!). I had been sent a press release from Topshop, who were running their A/W 2010 line, and I said you know what? Rather than use your photos - which I don't like to do - if you send me some clothes to borrow, I'll get some friends together, blah blah blah. AND THEY DID: a messenger delivered the whole line, in shopping bags, the next day, and we did a really quick shoot. It was like a flashmob photoshoot. We met at my local Cafe Nero, changed in the ladies' room, had a laugh.. an example, here:
Anyway, just before LFW in February, someone who worked with Nin Castle, the designer, got in touch, and arranged a meeting at Somerset House. Nin is DELIGHTFUL. We just got on instantly. I just love what she and her team are doing: creating affordable, sustainable, and very wearable, collections, made in England from reclaimed and up-cycled fabrics.
So when she sent me a press release recently with shots from a shoot she did with one of her best friends - and flat mate's - JESS BONHAM, shooting - well I simply had to break my 'don't use other people's photography on my blog' rule. Besides, I love these shots, and the way they're styled, so much.
Soon, I want to stop by with a friend or two to her studio, and do my own shoots again. But for now, here are some examples from Goodone's Basic Collection: everything is under £100, and can be customised TO ORDER. So you can give them, for example, a leg length.. it's extraordinary, really. Especially in the recent wonderful exchanges on posts to do with 'where can we find affordable, ethical clothing?'
Who knew: in our own back yards. Metaphorically speaking.
In my inbox today, an email from yours truly, MY MOM, titled 'YES JILL.'
This is what she wrote:
"Yes string dipped in wet flour? and we used to wrap it around balloons and then pop the balloons and when it dries you have what looks like a balloon only it's string.
It did happen, you aren't imaging it.
She then sent a second email, with a link that said TRY THIS. I didn't take this photo, but I like it enough to break my 'only photos by me on my blog' rule. And besides, now that my disclaimer is the blog is 'not just streetstyle' - well, DIY interior design falls into this category. I really want to make these lamps! Especially now that I know it is not a phantom memory. (If this makes no sense to you whatsoever, read previous post please).
The other day - yesterday, actually - I asked the Universe to identify the cuff in Nia's friend's bracelet (also friends with the girl in the Sunshine post) because it was driving me bonkers. My sweet virtual friend, Maya, from Soviet Georgia, now a wife and soccer mom in Hendersonville, Tennessee (Soccer Mom Style), came up with the goods. It's GIVENCHY. And it costs $738.50, on StyleBistro.
Which, to my mind, means it's just SCREAMING OUT to be DIY'd.
Now, I'm not a very good DIYer. I should be - my mom was the best nursery school teacher, and she was always trying out these crafty projects on my sister and I at home (my favourite - mom if you're reading this, do you remember we wrapped balloons in string dipped in glue and when it dried, we popped the balloons? Why??? Don't tell me: another phantom memory that never really happened).
Anyway.. (and don't you love her shorts btw? I love faded studded denim shorts with long sleeved black tops - I just love that look). I thought, hey, I've got chains, and I've got feathers - I bring them home for the cat, who eats them whole, so I hide them in drawers.. and then I realised - pack rat that I am.. I also have SCRUNCHIES! Remember in Sex and the City, when Carrie says she doesn't want to eat at a restaurant that serves people who wear scrunchies?
So for your viewing pleasure: Polka Dot's DIY Tip of the Week: the Scrunchie Givenchy Feather Chain Cuff!
She is Nia, and she got in touch, and the brand she works with in Australia is called ZIMMERMAN. Which was the name of my piano teacher: Mrs. Zimmerman. I LOVED her: she was a neighbour, a mom, in our suburban town, and I was allowed to walk home - at 5:00, in the DARK in the winter - because she was around the corner and I didn't have to cross the street. I used to pretend the streets were canals, and the parked cars boats, and I was in Venice.
I can't find the lace shorts on the site - DUH, it's winter in Australia - but I see they've got some smashing swimsuits on Net-a-Porter.
Click here to see some pretty gorgeous stuff. And Nia - as with her friends - is a delight. The third in the friend trilogy is the Girl with the Givenchy Cuff, coming up.
Every time I take my camera out at home, our cat sees it as a photo op.
Not that long ago (11 days, actually), I happened to be on twitter when the lovely Laura, of A Daisy Chain Dream, posted about Snacking Saturday (actually, Friday). I got so smitten with her review of Joe&Seph's popcorn - it really caught my imagination - that I wrote to them and asked for some free samples to review. And they quickly, cheerfully replied.
My package arrived on Saturday, and I laid out the three flavours - salted caramel, irish cheddar, and caramel with coconut and cinnamon - to do a little shoot. The cat was shoving the things around.. I was laughing so much all the shots came out blurry. Just as Laura had her dad do the reviewing, it seems I let the cat do it, and he went for the caramel, coconut and cinnamon. Which I bet I will, too, when I finally open the packages to taste them.
Theoretically, which flavour do you imagine you'd like best? It's like reading about perfume for me: the 'notes' just sounds so inspiring.
I don't know about you - but I am absolutely HOPELESS at opening things. I've been known to save wrapped gifts forever, without opening the package. I don't care what's inside, it's just the thought that someone I liked cared enough to buy and wrap something. Plus I'm a real fool for packaging. And once you open it, well let's face it, you (and more likely, your husband) will eat it and before you know it, it's gone. I'm thinking of bringing it on holiday to the summer house - surprise my mother for her birthday, and doing the review post with the family. Altho, Mom, if you're reading this, I guess the cat's already out of the bag.
Help! Can anyone ID this bracelet? She told me - lovely girl - I want to do a post, and I'm totally blanking on the designer. It was someone.. Parisian. Well known. I should know better. I've even tried Net-a-Porter and while big cuffs/bangles are, well, big, it's just one of those things that I'm not going to be able to concentrate and be present until I can sort this out.
And my goal in life is to be as PRESENT as possible, at all times. Just because you never know what will happen next.
I don't know what caught my eye first, that day: the composition of the chair and the dance it made with its own shadow, or the girl in the yellow skirt, reading a book.
Probably the girl: it was an absolutely glorious day, coming out into the sunshine after the utterly spiritual experience (unexpected - it really was a last minute plan) of seeing the V&A's Fashion in Motion catwalk show, by Yohji Yamamoto. The thing for me about seeing any great art form: a transformational film, (like Terance Malack's Tree of Life, which we saw yesterday), or an art exhibit at a museum.. or, a good catwalk show, is how it makes everything after that experience feel like art. It changes the way I SEE.
A girl in a yellow skirt, for example, can become a sculpture. Sitting by a wall in a shaft of yellow sunlight.
Actually, come to think of it, she was actually the second girl in a yellow skirt I saw that afternoon. (And yes - whoever asked is that actually a plastic inflatable skirt, I believe you're right!)
I love how many overlapping stories can happen in once place. This family, coming out of the cafe, for example: there's a whole other story in that, I bet. Which keeps bringing me back to the dream like film: has anyone else seen Tree of Life yet? Did it move you as much as it did us?
The thing that struck me about this girl was how absorbed she was in her book: how oblivious to all that was going on in the huge open courtyard with the pool and fountain at the V&A. (This was the same time I shot the girl in the lace shorts - who is NIA, by the way: more about her, coming up), or the previous post, the girl in the straw hat. Even the guy next to her, who didn't seem to know her, was aware I was shooting, but she never looked up. Not once.
I guess I'll never know, but now I'm really curious: I wonder what book she was reading. What do you think? Actually.. while I'm at it, I need a new book. Any suggestions? The film of my favourite book is coming out soon, by the way: One Day, by David Nicholl.
RoadTrip23 is the natural evolution from StreetStyle London, which is still here, and has been since 2009. Because there's more to the world than fashion, and there's more to the world than London. Lovely as London is.
I'll still be posting street style, if something really grabs me, but have expanded into other areas of interest, primarily travel, the arts, culture. Whatever I feel is beautiful or interesting: either man made, or a natural wonder.
I am an exNYer, married to an Englishman, residing in London. I am first and always an artist. I'm also a writer and photographer: all the words, ideas, and images shown here are my own, unless specified. I also an art director and screenwriter: I've written feature films, adapted someone else's novel, and been in development for a tv series. At the moment, I am adapting my novel to a screenplay. I am not a Blogger. I am a Human Being.