Wild Hearts Vintage

My dearest friend has just graduated from fashion school and decided to jump in the deep end and start her own online business! Her vintage boutique, Wild Hearts Vintage, is full of carefully hand selected pieces that she has acquired around the traps and some beautiful hand made one off's on their way. Take a peek at www.wildheartsvintage.com and eliminate the need to trawl through rows of bad polyester and Supre hand me downs at the local oppy!

It Never Rains but it Pours

"Bring on summer festival season!"

That's been my mantra for the last month.

Cars overheating while you wait for hours to get in. Kicking up hot cyclones of dust on the dancefloor. Collapsing into a sweltering tent for some sweaty shut eye when it all gets too much. That's what summer festivals mean to me... that is until Shine On.

Ironic it should be called that given that it rained relentlessly for almost 72 hours.

Driving up to the festival we watched the dark clouds begin to swallow up the sky. A storm was a' brewing and it was obvious it wasn't going to be fleeting. Best get in and set up camp ASAP was the general consensus. As we drove across what was already becoming some fairly bog-worthy terrain the first drops of rain started to fall so we chose a spot and intended to set about building our temporary home only to discover SOMEONE had neglected to pack a crucial component of the construction materials - tent poles. I should probably mention that someone was me, although I am still trying to pass the blame for that one. Sure, I was the one that actually grabbed the tent this time round, but who packed the tent last time is what I want to know? And why weren't the tent poles in the bottom of the tent bag where all good tent poles belong? That way the next person to use the tent picks up the tent bag which is all inclusive of everything necessary to build a tent and doesnt have to waste valuable memory recalling the tent and the poles as two separate items! Anyway, I forgot the tent, which pretty much started the trend for a whole series of unfortunate occurrences which followed.

My would-be-room mate and I, always resourceful, didn't let this minor setback get us down. Borrowing supplies and manpower from nearby campers we somehow managed to build the mother of all marquee/tarp tents. A roomy abode with a solid roof and walls and even a little verandah that we could sit under to enjoy the double rainbow. Chuffed? Youbetcha! We plonked the swag in the middle and set off with the masses to enjoy some music, happy in the fact that we had a nice little shelter to retire to. A nice little shelter right in the heart of the black lagoon. Yep, the rain persisted and our home was smack bang in the lowest point of the district, or so it seemed. Upon return to the shack, our boudoir was washed out, swag floating in the middle like a lilo in a damn. But lilo in damn is reminiscent of summer frolicking, sunbaking and splashing - this was reminiscent of your bed for the next few days saturated and floating in a grassy puddle. We had no option but to push through, denying our bodies the sleep which probably would have saved the delirium that was to follow.

We tried to keep spirits up but it was at times difficult. Gumboots are heavy and make your legs tired which just gives you one more thing to complain about. There was no Krishna van which left me unsatisfied with all food intake. The music was willing my body to dance but the swap of a dancefloor hindered all efforts. Come Sunday I was ready to go home. Really ready. Let's go. Home time. Remove all belongings from the black lagoon. Pack the car. Let's go!

Too bad we got bogged and had to wait to find some kind German stranger to tow us out.

There were definitely some positives to the whole experience. The main one being that the weather conditions permitted you to be able to use the terms "slurry" and "bog" as often as you pleased without them losing in relevance.

Into the Ether

Last week I was trying to get together an online folio for my 'pretend job application.' I had one project that I did first year which I really loved but was unable to find on my computer. Weird. The whole folder for my digital design class was missing. After a little while searching through the endless docs on my computer panic started to set in as I realised it was no where to be found.
A few months back I transferred filed to a harddrive and then deleted them from my computer. It was done late at night and I know realise that I must have transferred the files I wanted and then accidentally deleted my digital design folder without actually having backed it up. The only copy I have are the images I posted to facebook which are poor quality. Wahhhh... Lately computers only seem to be making my life harder!

If anyone knows how to recover work from deleted trash please comment below and let me know. Cheers.

The best form of procrastination

I've been trying super hard this semester to not get distracted and spend every spare second doing my schoolwork. It has happened exactly like that of course, however at least with no internet at home over the past few weeks I've at least found myself partaking in distractions that are a little more worthwhile than scrolling through stranger after stranger on the devil fb. Here are a few little sketchy poos I have done.

Solitude is Bliss

It's ten o'clock Friday evening. I'm sitting at the train station and what at first seemed like a light sprinkling of moisture from the heavens above has now transformed into a steady downpour. 11 minutes till the next train. Not a soul in sight, and the fact that I'm not even bothered that I have to wait here for the train makes me realise that a great change has taken place.
It could be just one glass too many of red or it could be the fact that I'm not hunched over my computer agonizing over flash, but I feel so damn content. Don't get me wrong, in the back of my head there is a huge storm of stress brewing about my uni work but for now, I'm sitting here by myself and happy to be doing just that. This is coming from a girl who, for as long as I've known, has become distraught with loneliness after just 5 minutes of solitude.
I'm not sure how gradual the change has been, but tonight is the first time I've really noticed and appreciated how beautiful it is to be on your own. In the past I've found myself on the phone trying to summon anyone I can to pass the time with, even if I have things that need to be done I've felt that they'd be better done with someone by my side. But now, thinking about it, the last little while has seen me welcoming the infrequent bursts of time spent along and relishing there time where I can sit alone and think, or not think, and breathe and stare into space and not worry about anything or anyone in the world apart from me. What made me start thinking about this was walking through the empty streets to the station and imagining the possibility of walking forever and not bumping into a single soul. Complete silence, and usually this though would send shivers down my spine, have me purposefully seeking out a route where I was bound to encounter human life, a car headlight at least. But tonight, the beauty of that thought overwhelmed me an now I'm so happy, so proud, that after over 4 years of relying on others to make me feel whole, give me comfort, and prevent me from loneliness, I can now tackle it on my own. To quote an overzealous personal trainer I once saw on a cheesy workout video... It's a beautiful thing!

El Escuro Me-Mantine

Jeremiah was a Bullfrog

Here are the initial ideas for an animation I am required to do for school. Unfortunately I know that flash and my relationship is not a loving one and while the idea is there, the execution is going to be another thing and I doubt I will have a follow up video of a completed animation that resembles this in the slightest but... it's the thought that counts. Oh wait, no it isn't.

Tas-MANIA

Cheap flights prompted a voyage across the seas on a 3 day excursion to our estranged state. No expectations were set, all of us content just to get away for a few days where all talk of school and work was declared disallowed. While a good part of the mini holiday was spent eating beautiful food and sipping Pinot, we did manage to persuade the struggling engine in our tiny hire car to show us a few of the sights. Our first trip was to the tip shop. Interesting concept, amazing outcome. The name is fairly self explanatory. The tip shop is a place where all of the treasures rummaged from the local tips come together and off themselves to the public for budget prices. Cheap trash? Who would've thought. While the tip shop would be great if you actually needed something obscure (new microwave plate, knight's helmet, new years eve float character etc etc) it also had a vast array of records, books, clothing and... pretty much anything else you can think of. The best part was that everything is grouped with other things of the same nature, so there is big piles of drawers, next to big piles of broken brooms and mops which sit behind a wall of soiled fake flowers that blocks the view down to where it appears a mothers group have left all their infants while they go for a browse around the store (but which is actually the place where all the prams which have ended up in the tip now reside). As is customary, I forgot my camera but managed to purchase an overpriced disposable on arrival. Unfortunately most of the photos of the tipshop bonanza are on my phone and at the moment I really can't dedicate time to figuring out how to transfer pictures from one device to another.



But Tasmania isn't just full of used garbage for sale. It is also has a tremendously beautiful landscape and coast. One afternoon we headed along the coast towards Point Arthur stopping intermittently for fresh air and views. Standing on the edge of the country looking out to a seemingly endless ocean seems to put things in perspective somehow. Silence is the only option to take in this sort of a view. Places like this make loneliness appealing. If only that sort of solitude was accessible closer to home, somewhere to escape to and make believe you are the only person left on earth. Sea breeze licking your cheeks, thundering of the waves below blocking out all other thought. Bliss.

The Prom, Minus the Taffeta

I just came across some photos that I took almost a year ago while on a springtime camping adventure with my dearest friend. We went down to Wilson's Promontory which is a magically gorgeous part of the world and a perfect little retreat away from the stress out that comes with staying local. Bushfires ravaged the region a couple of years ago which is tragic, especially when you see how much wildlife is kickin it there, but the regeneration of the plants is amazing. Along the side of the road, in amongst thick, twisted masses of black branches there is the brightest of green fighting for life. Still water reflects mirror images of the both and the intricacy of the patterns created is amazing. It was one of the most naturally beautiful things I had seen. Creepy yet comforting.
The best part of Wilson's Prom however was not the surrounds, but the wombats that walked right through our campsite, not even batting an eyelid as we had kittens at the fact that YES there was an ACTUAL WOMBAT strolling through our temporary home.... RAD!

Saturday Night Fever

Literally. A Saturday night in suffering from chronic bird flu (at least that's my diagnosis). Yuk. Never again do I want to pass the hours till bedtime on a Saturday night trawling through Identifont, measuring margins, comparing point sizes and sweating it over leading. I guess it could be seen as a good thing, school work almost completed. Perhaps I should try getting sick every weekend - that way I might just pass second year.

Fun is Fun

There are those nights when you go out and have a shitload of fun and then there are those nights when you think you had fun, but you can't quite remember. Here is a list of indicators that pretty much guarantee you did.

Waking up with a full face of make up, smudgy red lipstick looking very crack-whore chic. Arm decorated with no less than seven grubby stamps, none of which give you any clue of where you may have graced with your presence. Skittles on the floor, in your pockets, under the sheets. Nursing what you can only assume to be some sort of dance floor related broken hip, hazy memories of a slippery surface somewhere. Inbox full of unknown numbers: "Who's this?" Who's this indeed. Wallet full of little white ATM slips where all your millions used to be hanging out. Broken elbow. Shaky hands. Queasy tummy. Ingrained frown. Durian in the fridge.

Ahhhhh.... fun is fun.

Stranger than Kindness

If it Weren't for the Eraser...

A couple of days ago I bought a new sketch book. I didn't really need a new one as a dear friend bought me a beautiful new sketch book for my 21st and I have barely used more than a couple of pages but there is beautiful pleasure to be taken in opening up the cover of a new sketch book and flicking through the crisp white pages which are yet to be covered in inky smudges and eraser crumbs. Bloody eraser crumbs! They haunt me, follow me everywhere. Or rather, I create them everywhere. I don't think I have ever sketched something without employing the eraser. If the eraser wasn't an option I wouldn't make anywhere near as many mistakes. Or I at least wouldn't think of them as mistakes. I'd think of them as a first attempt, or an interesting take, or not quite what I was going for but something to work with all the same. The eraser is the instigator for second guessing yourself, making you question if what you've done is really good enough, and lord knows I do not need any encouragement to do that, especially not from a dirty square of rubber.
One of the main reasons I'm yet to have crowded the pages of my sketch book with my scrawls is I'm scared that they won't be worthy. But what good is a blank sketch book? Part of the pleasure of opening the new sketch book for the first time is the excitement you have about all of the possibilities to be created on those there pages.
Doubt is forever holding me back, taking over all facets of my life and creating tiny eraser crumbs everywhere I go.
Enough is enough. No more erasing!

Over Caffeinated

There are a few problems that come with having a sneaky cafe crush on your local barista.

The first is that you find yourself digging through your wardrobe for copious amounts of time trying to decide whether a laid back jeans and jumper would be better to ask for 1 X skinny flat white take away, or whether it would better be executed in dress and stockings. Decisions decisions.

The second is that no matter where you are when the coffee craving hits, you walk/ride/drive the extra block and half in the hope that the long, blonde haired boy will be manning the machine (that is until you get his roster memorised and know exactly what time his shifts are).

The third, and probably the worst, is that your caffeine intake is increased beyond what you can actually handle and you spend the whole day wiping your clammy hands on your pants, chatting incessantly to people and trying to disguise your trembling hands.

Possibly the most exasperating thing though, is walking into the coffee shop only to discover that Blonde Barista and his skinny, skinny jeans aren't even present and you're now in too deep to exit sans coffee, forced to order off the pink haired girl with second rate frothing skills.

Another $3.20 wasted.

The Definition of Frustration

Not having a regular spot for the safekeeping of your tooth brush so that every morning and every night (just in case my dentist is reading) I have to dig around in my bedroom, looking under the bed, in the pockets of things and on top of my wardrobe to try and find it!

Tea-Light Delight

Whilst scouring the vast sea of the world wide web (which means doing anything but finishing off the last 500 words of my Contemporary Design Issues Assignment) I came across this beautiful little clip by Raf Wathion.

I wish I had the time and space to create something equally as mesmerising... Maybe one day soon - after I have finished my assignment.

Ch Ch Ch Changes

Why is it that the changes that want to make to be a better person are so easy to visualise every night, alone, in the dark and then so hard to implement in the day, when people can see you?

Carrot Cake Hell

Today I entered carrot cake hell.

It all started when I went down to get my healthy soup from the overpriced, organic food store in Port Melbourne (leftovers for dinner means nothing for lunch. I really have to get my cooking patterns sorted). I already knew what I wanted. Soup. No bread (watching carbs). The thought of cake hadn't even entered my mind, which is unusual for me. So I was a bit caught off guard when I saw these gigantic carrot cake muffins upon which sat a big, ol' pile of cream cheese icing.
"Yum!" me-one said.
"No!" me-two said. "You don't eat things like that anymore."
"But I'll have a healthy dinner, and I love carrot cake, and I haven't had it in ages, and it will be worth it because it tastes so good, and I'll save half for tomorrow, and I'll go to the gym and please? Please? PLEASE? I NEED IT!!" And so it went on, but as strong minded as me-two tried to be, me-one was victorious.
So I spent $6 on this muffin and didn't even last the duration of time it took for the waiter to heat my soup before I was finger deep in cream cheese icing.

The carrot cake was dry. The cream cheese icing came off all over the bag. A pang of disappointed ran through my body. I even had thoughts of going to the bakery next door where I know they have kick-ass carrot cake so that my cravings would be satisfied. M1 & M2 had another battle about how to justify that. But I didn't, because how would I explain why I had 2 pieces of carrot cake upon my return to the office. So I went back to the office and ate the whole dry muffin, even the bits that had a slight hint of charcoal. What a waste of calories!

And here I sit right now, still just as unsatisfied, reduced to eating honey off a spoon to try and fill the void.

If only I had a squeez-e bottle, I could cut out the middle man.

What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor?

It was in year 12 when we first started to get along,
Our friendship was strengthened by our mutual love of the hong,
There was many a rowdy night in Matt’s or Brockman’s shed,
Where La-nee would end up with a bit of a sore head,
Almost every Sunday she’d call the Royal, sick,
But I doubt Yvonne ever really fell for that trick.

On one cold October night we headed off to the show,
Bought all these showbags but then had nowhere to go,
So Alby, La-nee and I needed somewhere to stay,
That’s when we remembered Ginni’s parents were away.
We found the spare key and and went through the door,
And got away with it… till Ginni found our lolly wrappers on the floor.

Since then we’ve moved to different parts of the state,
But it hasn’t stopped her from being my very best mate,
Whenever she comes to stay we’re bound to have a laugh,
Whether she’s spitting beer at a bouncer or wearing a bar mat scarf.

As everyone knows La-nee’s a pretty special gal,
It’s rarely you’ll find such a unique and creative pal,
She’s gorgeous and level headed with amazing artistic flare,
And her big heart makes you know she’ll always be there.

So let’s all raise our glasses for our brilliant friend,
And wish her all the best for now until the end.






Unfortunately the photos are a poor reflection of the amount of fun had that night.



"Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll."

HST

An Easter Discovery

I'm not sure of my exact sentiment about the fact that I have been lied to my whole life, but this Easter I have discovered that contrary to what my Doctor, parents and anyone else with any influential opinion over my health have told me my whole life.... It is actually possible to survive off chocolate alone for 5 days. It helps for variety if you mix it up with dark, white, belgian, praline and caramel assortments, but I'm sure nutritional content is not effected.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm sure it has not been a healthy choice to make, and already the guilt about the increasing waistline has begun. But at the same time, I feel it may be just what I needed after a break-up and a bout of a virus I always thought to be reserved for the elderly.

Anywho, I'm heading home tomorrow where hopefully there are no more cacao/dairy products awaiting me and I can let my brain, kidneys and stomach recover and get in shape for this time next year.

I also have a new roll of film to scan in and share... I'm excited even if you are not.

xx

Ladi Vintage

Ladi is an online boutique full of beautiful little vintage pieces that are so sweet they'll make your hair form ringlets. It's run by a friend of mine and here is a little marketing flyer I did up to spread the good word.
They have much more of a vintage postcard effect when printed, but hopefully you get the idea.

If you are intrigued: www.ladi.bigcartel.com

Zucchini Fritters To Write Home About (or at least on your blog)

Ok, listen up Peep Gang.

I am about to disclose to you loyal readers my very first recipe.

First I must let it be known that about 12 months ago the only thing I had ever cooked was a one pan dinner from a box, and even that I burnt so badly you could have lifted it straight out of the frying pan and played a game of that ultimate, not-really-a-true-sport-no-matter-how-competitive-your-facial-expression, frisbee I see is all the rage these days. Yes, I am the person who one time had to ring her neighbour to find out whether or not water was required to cook carrots... boiled carrots.

So I have come a long way from only eating things that came from a plastic container or I found in the dumpster*, to inventing my own recipes.

Here is one for some zucchini fritters I made this evening that were a bit of a hit:

INGREDIENTS:

2/3 cup Wholemeal Flour
1 tsp Baking Powder
A big ol' Shake of Salt
A big ol' Grind of Pepper
About the same of Cayenne Pepper
4 eggs - beaten
5 (from memory) Zucchinis - grated
1 Brown Onion - Diced
1 Cob of Corn - cooked (Remove the kernels from the cob before adding them... Derrr)
A few mushrooms and however much capsicum you have left in the crisper


METHOD:

First of all you will need to find quite a large bowl.. or casserole dish, or saucepan (for all you uni students out there). Put the flour, eggs, baking powder and seasonings in, and mix until you end up with a doughy looking paste that looks a bit like a moist cookie dough. Please, at this stage, refrain from tasting the mixture because despite it's appearance it is not cookie dough and it literally tastes like raw eggs and flour, salted.
Add to this mix all the chopped vegetables and stir until all is well combined.
Lightly oil a frying pan and place over a medium heat. Drop dollops of the mixture into the pan and flatten slightly. Cook until browned on one side, flip, and cook the other side until cooked through. Hey presto, you've made yourself some fritters. Nice going.


MAKES:

Shitloads.


SERVE WITH:

Whatever you so desire, aint no one gonna care once they taste these babies.

Project Housemate

Here is a little somethin' somethin' I whipped up for school. I was required to make an impression of a person or place in 6 images, composed using Photoshop.

I chose my housemate as my subject and hope that I have managed to capture at least a touch of her vivacious, audacious personality.

It's such a wonderful thing to come home and have someone to pass time with who isn't halfway through their 12th episode of Startrek for the day.

Taken for Granted

Where to from Postmodernism?

Droog Design is a Dutch based company with a swell little collection of items from innovative and experimental designers. The products are very select, and push the boundaries of our comfort levels regarding design. The technical function of all the objects is still in tact, but that is almost secondary to the fact that they look like nothing you've ever seen.

It makes you start to question what could possibly come next.
Surely every last avenue of original thought has been expelled?
No, my friends. Not with such creative geniuses like Jurgen Bey walking this dear earth.

Let me introduce to the tree trunk bench.Aptly named, no?

You could look at this and think: Designer? Pfft. Anyone could do that. Yep, anyone could, but no one has.

You could look at this and think: Why the hell would I want a big ol' tree trunk in my lounge? And I don't have an answer for that. Except that I for one would think you were cool as fuck if that was the first thing I saw when I walked into your lounge.

Sure, it's not for everyone. You'd need a lot of space for one, not to mention €11,000. A fairly hefty price, especially when you consider you're just paying for the chair backs. That's right, the tree trunk bench is delivered sans trunk. Jurgen Bey makes it clear that it would be RIDICULOUS to transport tree trunks when they could be found locally...

Project Vegie Patch

In other backyard news, my housemate (not C-Mop) and I have finally put into action our marvelous plan to start a vegetable garden. After a couple of hours of tough work digging (and stabbing and kicking) up a patch of our backyard, we are now the happy parents of Rhubarb, Spinach, Carrots, Strawberries and Rosemary. I hope our babies live long and healthy lives... until we bite off their heads and put them in our tummies of course.


And to top it off we've even begun to make our own compost. Tres eco-chic!

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Itsy Bitsy Spider climbed up the water spout,
Spun a little web... and then laughed his arse off every time he saw me face plant into it.

That's right, we have an Orb Weaving spider that has taken up residence in our backyard. Quite a beautiful specimen, and a web that would impress the silk out of Charlotte. It's just a pity forget about it every time I walk into the backyard.

Bastardy

I watched the most beautiful documentary last night.

Amiel Courtin Wilson directs Bastardy, which follows aboriginal actor Jackie Charles through all the different aspects of his life: heroin addict, cat burglar, homeless man and thespian all rolled into one.
It is a gorgeous story with amazing cinematography and the happiest ending you could hope for.

I suggest you check it out.

http://bastardydocumentary.com/

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Last week I finally got my derriere into gear and took some memories down to the photolab to be turned into 5X5cm, matte print keepsakes.
The majority of them were from Rainbow Serpent 2010 and just seeing them sent a pang of nostalgia through my body.What a beautiful congregation of people loving life. It is the most brilliant festival and if you have ever wanted to just let go of all your inhibitions and really let loose, I suggest you buy a ticket for 2011.
It is slowly becoming my favourite place in the world.

C-Mop

Let me introduce you to C-Mop.

C-Mop is one of my housemates.

C-Mop is an anagram - it stands for craziest man on planet.

It should be known that if my housemate's name was actually C-Mop, we would undoubtedly be friends. Who wouldn't want to be friends with someone named C-Mop.



Here is a short bullet point list of some of the bizarre things that C-Mop does.

• Walks around the house swearing incessantly for no comprehensible reason.


• Offers to measure the dishwashing detergent into individual portions so that people do not over or under indulge in the soapy matter when washing the dishes.


• Places objects to be recycled next to the recycling bin rather than in the recycling bin.


• Stands in the loungeroom, or any other room where people are, and pirohuettes, continuing to talk to you as if there is nothing out of the ordinary occurring.


• Insists that glad bake must cover the surfaces of the non stick sandwich press.

So looking back at this list I can see that a lot of these things aren't so much crazy as they are super duper annoying for people living with him.

Maybe I should change C-Mop's name to PITA.

I'm sure there will be more C-Mop bullet points to come...

Back to the grind

And so begins another school year.

My first week of second year has been smooth sailing so far (I have, mind you, only 9 contact hours a week. Which could be quite a dangerous catch given my history of minimal self motivation) however my first theory based piece of work since finishing high school was a stark reminder of how quickly language skills diminish when not being practiced regularly. It was a struggle just to think of words let alone put them into coherent, functioning sentences.

Derrrrrr.

Here are a few little pieces from last year that I was reasonably happy with at the time, but now I'm not so sure.... I think that has to be a good sign that I'm developing as a designer... or perhaps just a sign that they are crap.