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ida rentoul outhwaite 1921
william heath robinson
alphonse mucha
recondite romantic reveries
About Me
- zugaikotsu
- a fine art and fashion fotographer with an impeccable eye and a taste for the classic forlorn aesthetic. like shiny things scavenged by a crow, this is my collection of style and inspiration.
luna
CURRENT MOON
land of talk - its okay
fear of the dark
L’Homme craint tant l’obscurité qu’il en écorche les bords avec du feu.
- Rei Ayanami dans Evangelion
- Rei Ayanami dans Evangelion
Blog Archive
-
▼
2011
(156)
-
▼
January
(22)
- qu’ils mangent de la brioche
- rachel freire f/w 2010
- hopeless again
- far too many years of her life
- wood nymphs are generally lonely
- still life
- beckoning black
- ellen von unwerth - keira knightley vogue italia j...
- black net sweater
- seeing through
- long lush locks
- standing next to a mountain
- its summer over there
- rapture in the lonely shore
- jonas bresnan - vanessa hegelmaier tush winter 2010
- efes'te uyandilar
- marcelina sowa
- a pensive party
- eugenia silva
- to me a corset is like a codfish
- properly attired when properly courted
- wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep
-
▼
January
(22)
time for tea
Tea does our fancy aid,
Repress those vapours which the head invade
And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
~Edmund Waller
Repress those vapours which the head invade
And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
~Edmund Waller
The Wasteland
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
....
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
exerpts from
T.S. Eliot
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
....
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
exerpts from
T.S. Eliot
"a great photographer is one that gives you confidence, that wants to have fun within the moment, doesn't stop you or give you boundaries. It's about flow and chemistry; you just go together, like a wave." -claudia schiffer
twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
how I wonder what you're at!
up above the world you fly,
like a tea tray in the sky.
twinkle, twinkle-
-lewis carroll
how I wonder what you're at!
up above the world you fly,
like a tea tray in the sky.
twinkle, twinkle-
-lewis carroll
ida rentoul outhwaite 1921
william heath robinson
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alphonse mucha
harry clarke
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