Here are a few photos and a poem from an especially magical high desert sunset over my family's farm in Central Oregon.
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Welcome to our online portfolio and blog.
We hope you enjoy your stay!
Welcome to our online portfolio and blog.
We hope you enjoy your stay!
Here are a few photos and a poem from an especially magical high desert sunset over my family's farm in Central Oregon.
Be it our media our our mothers, there's no shortage of resources conveying the idea of beauty coming from within. One way or another, we've all heard that it's what's on the inside that matters.
The same applies to clothing.
In my experience, there are two types of artists in this world.
There are the conceptualists. The ones who wield their arms about and plan together over cold Starbucks coffee in shiny conference rooms. They tend to be the ones who make money.
Then there are the hands-on creators. These are the ones with greasy hair and difficult, or to be kind, whymsical, dispositions and a preference to work on their own. Their coffee might be cold too, but they probably brewed their own.
It's been one year since Ieft for London. Here's a collective account of my summer interning abroad.
Last week my mom and I took a mini excursion to Cannon Beach, about 90 minutes West of Portland, Ore. The sun surprisngly was out, the wind less surprisingly was also out. We didn't stay long. As we were walking back along the ocean to the car, we saw a family of geese who were also having a family outing at the beach. Momma Goose, Papa Goose, Brother and Sister Goose.
Time doesn't exist in Cascadia, a tiny memory of a town in Oregon's Wilamette Valley where ladies in pointed shoes and gentleman in tall hats used to flock to drink the spring water in the 1930's. The trees are so tall, the light that does filter through feels eternally like sunrise, with air that is damp, and smooth, and new. A handful of cabins line a winding street, with blackberries twining out the windows of abandon cars and smoke puffs rise from tin chiminies.
A Guest Post 'a la Ma' -- From fashion shows to fashion school, I've written a lot about the "designer" part of my life. You've read about days exploring New York City and seen pictures of models in fancy clothes. Well, surprise! There's a lot more to my life than all of that. I actually grew up on a farm in Central Oregon and my parents were high school sweet hearts.
March 5, 2018 — Fred is Dead. And so is my head.
There has been an unfortunate turn of events for both Fred and myself.
A bit more unfortunate for Fred than the latter, however, so we’ll devote our attention in his direction first.
Meet Ashley, Helen, Ridhema, Nicole, and Tiffany, and see our different interpretations of the same assignment.
Today markes the second week of my second semester, and I thought that before I get too caught up in my new classes, I’d like to share my classes and projects from last semester to help demonstrate what some of that “stuff” is all about.
Red lips pressed up against a ribbon mike and a waxed mustache puffing on a harmonica against a white tile wall. At first I hear drums, tap, tap, tapping to the jazz band’s tune, but an opening in the crowd reveals the tell-tale silver flashes from dancing soles shoes A girl with checked accordion pleats and a feathered cap spins a crescent moon around a man with fiery red hair and a Windsor-knotted necktie.
I’ve only just stumbled off the train, onto the crowed subway platform at 96th street and into the swinging big-band age of the 1940’s.
There's a reason New York City is one of the most popular tourist destinations during the holidays. It's simply a magical place to be this time of year. The snow-softened streets are illuminated by thousands of twinkling lights strung up on every tree and rooftop. Curiousities from bow-sporting paper mache giraffes to thimble-sized vilages call out from the store windows, and everyone seems to be in their best moods.
Christmas is magical. What about Christmas shopping?
It's hard to feel alone when you're constantly bombarded with reminders that you are not. The challenge is in recognizing those reminders and acknowledging where they come from.
A traditional Latvian wedding: Flowers, trolls, ribbon tree-climbing, and dicovering Peiter Bruegel the Elder's muse...
Since I was working an internship in London this summer, I took an extra week and hopped over to Latvia to visit my uncle Dan and his family who live there. Serendipitously, it just happened to be the week of the now-grown Jolanta’s wedding, where I sit now, watching people dance.
New York Fashion Week has come and gone, and my Youth With A Mission (YWAM) friends have all dispersed back to their various corners of the globe. They let me tag along with them again this year, working backstage dressing models with their Beauty Arise team.
You know how when you’re in love, your perception of things tend to be slightly skewed?
The sun shines a little brighter, for instance. You don’t know what day it is or what you ate for breakfast. Did you, in fact, eat breakfast? It doesn’t matter. You’re in love. You spill your coffee in your lap? No worries. You’re in love.
I've made it back to the USA after spending two months in London, where once again I was blessed with a native surrogate family to teach me the ropes. I shared a bunkbed with Fanny’s (my New York roomie) fifteen-year-old niece, Britney, at her home in East Ham.
Fairytales. How we love to dream about these idealistic worlds where glass slippers fit and straw can be spun into gold. According to anthropologist Joseph Campbell's monomyth, "The Hero's Journey," virtually every story is made up of fairytale ingredients — a call to adventure, a wizard mentor, a hero prince, a daunting dragon.
