et dieu… créa la femme.

I recently found this schweet article about Brigitte Bardot by Agnes Poirier from The Guardian. Very enlightening.

skinny pictures.

In 2010 I co-founded Skinny Pictures with two university collegues. Woo hoo! So far we've has produced new and exiting promotional and feature media for universities, musicians, stylists, writers, a fashion designer and even the corporate world. In 2010 Skinny Pictures also produced four beautiful and unique short films and there are more on the way in 2011.
- peace out.

the designer.

I've been working with a fantastic designer shooting a photo-series for her new conceptual menswear collection. Last week we were on location for hours and I ended up with some fantastic shots. The results are kind of under wraps for now and will be released at her discretion, but I'll link and upload as soon as I can!

- Tristan.

literature: A MESSAGE FROM THE EMPEROR.

By Fanz Kafka

The Emperor, so it runs, has sent a message to you, the humble subject, the insignificant shadow cowering in the remotest distance before the imperial sun; the Emperor from his deathbed has sent a message to you alone. He has commanded the messenger to kneel down by the bed, and has whispered the message to him; so much store did he lay on it that he ordered the messenger to whisper it back into his ear again. Then by a nod of the head he has confirmed that it is right. Yes, before the assembled spectators of his death—all the obstructing walls have been broken down, and on the spacious and loftily-mounting staircases stand in a ring the great princes of the Empire—before all these he has delivered his message. The messenger immediately sets out on his journey; a powerful, an indefatigable man; now pushing with his right arm, now with his left, he cleaves a way for himself through the throng; if he encounters resistance he points to his breast, where the symbol of the sun glitters; the way, too, is made easier for him than it would be for any other man. But the multitudes are so vast; their numbers have no end. If he could reach the open fields how fast he would fly, and soon doubtless you would hear the welcome hammering of his fists on your door. But instead how vainly does he wear out his strength; still he is only making his way through the chambers of the innermost palace; never will he get to the end of them; and if he succeeded in that, nothing would be gained; he must fight his way next down the stair; and if he succeeded in that, nothing would be gained, the courts would still have to be crossed; and after the courts the second outer palace; and once more stairs and courts; and once more another palace, and so on for thousands of years; and if at last he should burst through the outermost gate—but never, never can that happen—the imperial capital would lie before him, the center of the world, crammed to bursting with it own sediment. Nobody could fight his way through here, least of all one with a message from a dead man.—But you sit at your window when evening falls and dream it to yourself.


Just a bit of Monday evening existentialism to welcome the new week.

accidental portrait.

I'm finding that some of the best portraits come from shots taken between poses.

paddington in the spring.

Daniel.

shinsui's death poem.

Shinsui, a Japanese zen monk died September 9, 1769, at 49. During his last moment, Shisui's disciples requested that he write a death poem. He grasped his brush, painted a circle, cast the brush aside, and died. The circle— indicating the void, the essence of everything, enlightenment— is one of the most important symbols of Zen Buddhism.