Thursday, December 12, 2013

Métiers d'Art

The inspiration for this year's Chanel's Metiers d'Art fashion show will come from Dallas, Texas - a cowboy hat-tilting nod to the place where Chanel's rebirth of her brand after a 15 year hiatus was met with a big warm American hug, ushering in a new era and relationship with the American market as opposed to the nervous European market, still caught up in the Nazi stench following WWII.

Fashion retailer Neiman Marcus was among the first to embrace the fashion house into his stores and truth be told upon her first visit to Texas in 1957, Coco Chanel was given a warm welcome that included being picked up at the airport in a white Rolls-Royce and being feted at a Western-themed party complete with a catwalk featuring cows.

Coco Chanel and Stanley Marcus, in 1957 at the infamous BBQ

"She was very mesmerized by the idea of Texas, so they threw a barbecue for her," Neiman Marcus fashion director Ken Downing recalls. "The story goes she actually didn't like the taste of the barbecue, and she tossed her plate under the table, which, as the story goes, it went all over Elizabeth Arden's red satin shoes."

Last nights festivities began with the premiere of a 20-minute film imagined, written and directed entirely by Lagerfeld titled, "The Return" that retraces the steps of Coco Chanel during this period.
 
The film was screened in an exhibition hall that had been transformed into a drive-in movie theater. Dozens of classic cars faced four screens. Lagerfeld, Vogue editor Anna Wintour and former Vogue editor-at-large Andre Leon Talley climbed into a black Cadillac convertible to take in the film.

Actresses Dakota Fanning and new face/muse of the pre-fall 2014 collection, Kristen Stewart
 
Chanel then turned one of the halls at Fair Park, Dallas' Art Deco exhibition venue, into a barn for the night, complete with a hay-scattered runway. Models in Western-style hats and boots wore outfits adorned with fringe, leather and feathers. The final model was dressed in an all-white ensemble that included fringed pants and a floor-grazing feather headdress.

 
Lagerfeld said after the show that he was inspired by "the idea of the old Texas, even before the Civil War." He noted that his cowboys were "not typical cowboys, they are transposed, very sophisticated".

 
After the runway show, guests partied in a recreation of a honky-tonk bar. Classic country music played while the well-heeled guests walked on a floor strewn with peanut shells and rode on mechanical bulls.
 
Sounds like my kind of party.
 
 
 
 

 





Wednesday, December 11, 2013

W.W

In homage to the release of T R O P I C O last week, i thought it necessary for context to publish the full poem, written by Walt Whitman, which our dear Lana recites an excerpt from as she writhes around our screens...enjoy.
 
 
1

I sing the body electric,

The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,

They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,

And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.


Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?

And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?

And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?

And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?


2

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account,

That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.


The expression of the face balks account,

But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,

It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,

It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,

The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,

To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,

You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.


The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,

The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water,

The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle,

Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,

The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,

The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,

The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd,

The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work,

The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,

The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;

The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,

The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,

The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting;

Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child,

Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.


3

I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,

And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.


This man was of wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,

The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness and breadth of his manners,

These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,

He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,

They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,

They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal love,

He drank water only, the blood show’d like scarlet through the clear-brown skin of his face,

He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail’d his boat himself, he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,

When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,

You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.


4

I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough,

To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,

To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,

To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?

I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea.


There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,

All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.


5

This is the female form,

A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,

It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,

I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,

Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,

Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,

Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,

Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,

Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,

Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,

Undulating into the willing and yielding day,

Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.


This the nucleus—after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,

This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again.


Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,

You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.


The female contains all qualities and tempers them,

She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,

She is all things duly veil’d, she is both passive and active,

She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters.


As I see my soul reflected in Nature,

As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,

See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.


6

The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,

He too is all qualities, he is action and power,

The flush of the known universe is in him,

Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,

The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is utmost become him well, pride is for him,

The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,

Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to the test of himself,

Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes soundings at last only here,

(Where else does he strike soundings except here?)


The man’s body is sacred and the woman’s body is sacred,

No matter who it is, it is sacred—is it the meanest one in the laborers’ gang?

Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?

Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as much as you,

Each has his or her place in the procession.


(All is a procession,

The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)


Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?

Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight?

Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,

For you only, and not for him and her?


7

A man’s body at auction,

(For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)

I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.


Gentlemen look on this wonder,

Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,

For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,

For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll’d.


In this head the all-baffling brain,

In it and below it the makings of heroes.


Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,

They shall be stript that you may see them.


Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,

Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized arms and legs,

And wonders within there yet.


Within there runs blood,

The same old blood! the same red-running blood!

There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings, aspirations,

(Do you think they are not there because they are not express’d in parlors and lecture-rooms?)


This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers in their turns,

In him the start of populous states and rich republics,

Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.


How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries?

(Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries?)


8

A woman’s body at auction,

She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,

She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.


Have you ever loved the body of a woman?

Have you ever loved the body of a man?

Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and times all over the earth?


If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,

And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,

And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful than the most beautiful face.


Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool that corrupted her own live body?

For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.


9

O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you,

I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the soul, (and that they are the soul,)

I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and that they are my poems,

Man’s, woman’s, child’s, youth’s, wife’s, husband’s, mother’s, father’s, young man’s, young woman’s poems,

Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,

Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids,

Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jaw-hinges,

Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,

Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,

Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest,

Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,

Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger, finger-joints, finger-nails,

Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,

Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,

Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,

Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,

Leg fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,

Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;

All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body or of any one’s body, male or female,

The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,

The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,

Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,

Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,

The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,

The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,

Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,

Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening,

The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,

The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,

The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body,

The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,

The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees,

The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones,

The exquisite realization of health;

O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul,

O I say now these are the soul!
 
 

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Picassoed

Since the Art Gallery of NSW has brought some of Picasso's masterpieces from the Musee National Picasso Paris to Sydney, i thought now is as good a time as any to upload my own little piece of abstraction.



I'm hoping this exhibition will enhance my appreciation of the genre.

I find that Picasso's work, in a nutshell, to be very much revolutionary, and lets face it the world would be a different place without many forms of abstract art.
However, in saying that, i do not find it my favourite artistic platform.

For Picasso being a firm staple as one of the most influential artist of the 20th Century, i feel somewhat guilty saying such things. (Popular society tends to do that). But alas, I am not an art critic and have never claimed to be. I am in no position to be making judgement calls and outlandish statements that some might misconstrue as what i am saying as being a 'hater'. A hater i am not, but we all have our favourites, and this style - albeit with all due respect - is just not one of them.

I do hope this exhibition whets my appetite to embrace it more than i do presently.

Would be interested to hear from any Galerians to share their P.O.V's to help me on this journey - as you all know i relish to be educated with a difference perspective.

Love L.V.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

It's not Kurt Vonnegut...but read anyway.

Wear Sunscreen

By Mary Schmich of the Chicago Tribune
(song adaptation below by Baz Luhrmann)


Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97: Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blind side you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.

Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Red Carpet

The 1953 movie Roman Holiday, starring Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, was written by John Dighton and Dalton Trumbo. 

Though here's a fun fact: with Trumbo on the Hollywood blacklist he did not receive a credit; instead, Ian McLellan Hunter took his place.

The Hollywood blacklist is known as a list of any screenwriters, actors, musicians and directors who were denied employment in the entertainment industry due to their political beliefs or involvement with the American Communist Party. During the period of the Cold War, particular at its height between the 1940's-1950's, the list was explicit and ruined the careers of many talented artists.

While of course I am not sympathetic to the cause itself, i am glad we now exist in a world where political and religious beliefs do not dictate what artists can and cannot achieve rightfully.

Gladly, Trumbo's credit was reinstated when the film was released on DVD in 2003. On December 19, 2011, full credit for Trumbo's work was restored.

Kudos!



On another note, Dendy Newtown is showing a special screening of Roman Holiday on Valentines Day. So get on your mopeds lovers and see it on the big screen. 

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Spirals.




Okay, now give me your stories. I want to hear interpretations.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Jeopardy.

Mike Ludlow for Esquire Magazine

One of the most famous pin up artists and pulp illustrators of the golden era was Mike Ludlow, and i for one am a huge fan.
Ludlow was a glamour illustrator who did much pin-up work in the late 1950s for Esquire. He painted the entire twelve-page calendar for 1957 - the last published by the magazine. His pin-ups also appeared in the series of three-page centerfolds known as Esquire's Lady Fair. For these works, Ludlow often called on actresses like Virginia Mayo and popular personalities like Betsy Von Furstenberg in addition to professional models.

Besides painting his Esquire pin-ups, Ludlow had another entire career as an illustrator of romance articles, providing pictures of beautiful women to mainstream magazines such as The Saturday Evening Post, Good Housekeeping, Collier's, and Family Circle. From 1950 to 1960, he also painted many front covers for paperback novels, including among his clients Pocket Books, Dell Books, and Bantam Books. All his paperback covers had a strong air of sensuality and featured sexy pin-up girls as the main figures.

*Source: The Great American Pin-up by Charles G. Martignette and Louis K. Meisel.






Thursday, February 2, 2012

Swell advice from Father Time

Lesson 3: How to have fun at a party.


And remember kiddies, be a good loser!

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Claudia Schiffer for Guess

And so the Guess campaigns continue...
We've seen Drew Barrymore and Cindy Crawford thus so far, and now for the crème de la crème - Claudia Schiffer. She became one of the most famous models in the world thanks to this highly publicised campaign, which furthered her career in the US and put Guess in the spotlight as one of the most recognised clothing brands of the 1990's. Marriage made in heaven? The pictures speak for themselves.








Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Ink not Mink

I have a moral dilemma.
Some might call it a vicious stab in my fashion conscience.

Whatever it is, i feel dirty and need to air the laundry.



I admit..... I like fur.


Now before you jump down my throat as if i skinned the rabbit with my own bare hands let me waive the little white flag for a second and broaden my point.

The wearing of fur dates back centuries and is synonymous with prestige, femininity and glamour, particularly from the golden ages of yesteryear. I think if Marilyn Monroe had a follow up to 'Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend', then 'Fur Comes a Close Second' would have been pretty spot on the mark.

As someone who admires the distinguished fashions from this era and prior, it still leaves an ugly taste in my mouth to think that even with all the knowledge that i have today on fur crimes that i still find it absolutely endearing.
Reality sets in. Guilt ensues.
I'm surprised i wasnt raised a Catholic because I am quite seasoned with the whole guilt thing...
But on the contrary, one thing i WAS raised to know and respect is where i came from.
And this is why I can understand (dare i say, justify?) my continued fascination.

Recently i have been given two fur pieces handed down to me from the older generation in my family. This alone is special as i know how personally valuable that obtaining these coats would have meant to a young woman growing up in a poor household. Its almost Cinderella-like in meaning and i can appreciate wholeheartedly what it represented then and now.

If there were two things that a woman was given to mark their presence into womanhood, it was a fur and white goods. And im going to go right ahead and say that a Westinghouse isnt quite as glamourous...or practical in the cold i might add.

So, this i ask you: Is it a crime to wear fur thats been handed down from generations as a family heirloom?

Is by wearing it in this day and age still promoting that wearing fur, and thus killing for fur, is ok?

It's a question enough to make me hesitate from walking out my front door wearing a Mink corpse across my shoulders thats for sure. But on the other hand, if it's an animal that has been dead for 60 years, then whats the harm? You wouldnt be bringing it back from the grave by letting it sit in moth balls for the rest of its coathangered life? It would actually give me great pleasure to don this remarkable piece of clothing knowing that someone had once cherished it as the one thing that made them feel a part of something bigger. More illustrious. More decadent.

Now I for one am in no way condoning the killing of animals for the pure sake of fashion or otherwise, particularly in the inhumane manner in which many kill for these pelts. In fact i am an avid campaigner against the slaughter of harp seals in Canada (IFAW). But my imaginary halo is about to slip and choke me right now as i can hear many of you ask how can i still even be questioning this if that is indeed the truth.

Well, my furry friends, call me ignorant if you must but I have to say that my blunt conclusion is this:

Unless your a vegetarian, unless you refuse to buy leather products, unless you fervently scour the supermarket looking for the 1 in 1000 products that dont contain palm oil, unless you are a part of some alternate universe where all the wrong doings we contribute towards in our society such as waste, pollution, lack of recycling etc does not occur- then its time to take a step down off the high horse and realise that we are indefinately harming animals in some way or another and are all guilty of something. And i think that a bit of vintage fur here and there amongst us isnt going to fix these problems, nor create more.

So on that note I'm going to sit here in my Grandmothers fur, eating a steak off my bone china and clicking my leather boots together as I toast to those who are morally better than I.
Because Godamnit, i like it.

And now a word from PETA to make everyone even more bummed out.




Sunday, January 22, 2012

Swell advice from Father Time

Lesson 2: How the 50's portrayed homosexuals as pedophiles.



Clearly he shouldve known by the way he played basketball in a bowtie...right?

Amazing.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Go, Tiger, Go!

And now for another of my favourite bombshells of the silver screen, Sheree North.

Originally dubbed the 'Queen of Burlesque' who's firey red hair gained her the nickname 'Fireball', she rose to stardom when she dyed her hair blonde 20th century Fox signed her to become their answer to Marilyn Monroe.


She was most famous for her...moves...so to speak. Watch her gyrate and pop in the clip below! Purr...



Thursday, January 12, 2012

Anais, Anais


Wouldnt it be just kick you in the crotch spit on your neck fantastic to have a Mario Testino-shot photograph of oneself at a mere 11 years of age? Well, Anais Gallagher – daughter of former Oasis singer-songwriter Noel Gallagher and Meg Mathews – has.

This photo was posted on twitter today by her mother, and by the looks of it i gotta say...
...Anyone else see a strong resemblance to a young Kate Moss?

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Swell advice from Father Time

Lesson One: What to do on a date.



Certainly not the weener roast?! Oh my...

Friday, January 6, 2012

Your happiness means my happiness.

On August 5th of 1962, Marilyn Monroe was found dead at her home. The next day, the following unsent and seemingly unfinished letter, addressed to ex-husband Joe DiMaggio was discovered at her desk, folded up in her address book. It is thought they were planning to remarry.


Transcript
Dear Joe,

If I can only succeed in making you happy — I will have succeeded in the bigest and most difficult thing there is — that is to make one person completely happy
Your happiness means my happiness.


Joe DiMaggio photographed at Marilyn Monroe's funeral by The Daily News, NY - August 9th 1962.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

The Last Sitting








These shots were taken by Bert Stern of Vogue Magazine in 1962.
It is known to have been her last professional shoot before her death 6 weeks later, hence the title of the shots that have been subequently been made into a book (believe me, this is only scratching the surface, and i know you want more).

I'll be more than happy to accept this book as a gift for sharing my love of Marilyn with you ;)
Hint hint...

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Summer Holiday.


Probably the most photographed celebrity of the 20th Century, Marilyn Monroe was no stranger to the lens. What makes this image so special is that it is thought to be the last photo ever taken of her before her untimely death on August 5th, 1962. This photo, taken from the collection of pianist Buddy Greco, was shot only five days before her death.

The weekend they were taken is now legendary - it was during this trip that Monroe was allegedly urged to keep quiet about her affair with the Kennedy brothers.
Her death is still surrounded by conspiracy theories to this day, with many believing she was murdered to make sure she never revealed the liaison.
What's more intriguing is that they also feature Peter Lawford, who has been alleged to have been in a plot to let her die. According to an FBI report released in 2007, Lawford, a friend of Monroe and brother-in-law to Bobby Kennedy, helped trick the actress into committing suicide.
The report - which was not authenticated but was given to top FBI officers - claimed that this was aimed at preventing her revealing her affair with John F Kennedy and Bobby,
Monroe was said to have been told she would act out a stunt to spark kindly publicity but was left to die after she took an overdose.
The file claims Bobby Kennedy rang Lawford - who was married to his sister Patricia - to check the actress was dead so that his secret was safe.

Lawford and his wife had taken Monroe to the lodge in Nevada to see a Frank Sinatra show, who was also another lover Monroe was linked to.
She is said to have started bingeing on alcohol and pills once at the villa and was later taken home because she was allegedly in such a state.
Greco has claimed that the Monroe was in 'good spirits' towards the start of the weekend but later being 'out of sorts'.
Mafia boss Sam Giancana, her former husband and baseball player Joe DiMaggio, as well as Dean Martin, were all on the trip, as was Marilyn's hair stylist and famed celebrity hairdresser Jay Sebring.

Apart from Marilyn's overdose on an exorbidant amount of barbituates, the photos appear to be cursed - Sebring was later murdered by the Manson Family in 1969. Of the 36 photos taken, the other 30 photos were stored in an office in the World Trade Center and were lost when the towers fell on September 11 2001. The remaining photos have been sinced auctioned off.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

50 years.

2012 will not only mark the end of the world (those darn Mayans), but it also marks 50 years since Marilyn Monroe passed away. The golden anniversary for the golden haired goddess that she was.
And thus i have a few things i wish to share with the gallery - i hope you don't mind.

Yes, i have done a few Marilyn posts before.
Some might yawn, some might rejoice.
And so, I feel i should explain my actions.

See, to me, she was an enigma.
She embodied everything that was powerful in a woman on the outside, yet in reality she was unstable and fragile.
She was beautiful, yet tragic.
And this is what draws me to her time and time again.

I find that this is also why i am conscious to many starlets from all eras that tend to convey a similar disposition - I find them psychologically intriguing, and in a strange way artistically profound.
The dirt underneath perfections facade.

Is this also how society see's people like Marilyn Monroe? Is that why still, 50 years on, we are so obsessed with her and her image?

I found a very interesting artical online written by Lena Corner of The Independant, UK.
I emplore you to read it here - she raises some very valid points.

How do you, dear Galerians, view her? Still relavent, or grossly over-rated?

Comments welcome, though i must warn the haters, it wont stop me from further postings so you've been advised. :)



Monday, January 2, 2012

New Years Revolutions

Considering i suppose now is the time to reflect on what we all wish to accomplish in the next year, i thought id illustrate my goals here on the Galerie.

Whether i stick to them or not is a different story, but hey, im not perfect like these gals.

Get on my bike!
Be more outdoorsy

See more of the world!

Primp myself with the plethora of products I've accumulated in my time

Cook more

Shoot more

Write more

Clean more

Drink more...and stress less ;)