judith supine: not actually a judith, or even a chick.

judith supine, originally uploaded by zynsky.

Okay, so we like to say that graffiti artists are blowing up. Come to think of it, though, the only BIG graffiti artists I can think of are Banksy (♥) and Shepard Fairey( not really my cup of tea).

So, when one of these guys actually writes an article, and thus becomes a little more my type of of tea, a little less oolong and a little more earl grey, where he talks about Judith Supine, you know this Judith Supine guy must be serious business. He's based in Brooklyn and his bright, psychedelic work reflects the sound of kids making music in their bedrooms on secondhand synths and Fisher Price karaoke machines, with a brilliant sense of humor.

egon schiele

egonschielecrouchedwoman1918, originally uploaded by zynsky.

Egon is one of my favorites and always will be. Anyone who runs away from sleezy bourgeois Vienna to a little town in Bohemia with the underage girl he loves to make grotesque and erotic art about sex and death is bound for great things.
Like the Spanish flu, which got the best of him at the tender age of 28.

edit: bahahaha what a creep! "Vice is nice, but incest is best," as an acid casualty art history teacher of mine once expounded.

egon schiele

egonschielecrouchedwoman1918, originally uploaded by zynsky.

Egon is one of my favorites and always will be. Anyone who runs away from sleezy bourgeois Vienna to a little town in Bohemia with the underage girl he loves to make grotesque and erotic art about sex and death is bound for great things.
Like the Spanish flu, which got the best of him at the tender age of 28.

Trance of Vania

Vania Zouravliov's illustrations:
bad trip?
warped fairytale?
intricate macabre goodness?
all of the above?

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I have lots of stuff to be thankful for this year, and just got some bomb roasted butternut squash at whole foods to seal the holiday mood.

cooking beautiful

yum, originally uploaded by zynsky.

Okay, so sometimes art does not suffice. Sometimes you need something that will hit a couple more sense. So, after doing homework, research, reading, writing, rewrites, etc. for about two days (not done yet!), I figured it was time for to treat my sensedatum.

I made pumpkin chocolate chip pancakes, with fresh raspberries and cream, and a nice strong coffee.

They appeal to every sense. You can try and argue, but you didn't hear them sizzling in the pan.

So, I am going to suffer with this short story for another month. Professor says I can't change it, which is a shame since it's completely inspired by painter Sylvia Ji. It's delicate and dark and sort of raw, like eating rare steak with a pile of nasturtiums on top.

However, it's getting colder outside, and Halloween is over, and all all all I want is to write some funny, fast story that tastes like mulled wine. I'm so into Toulouse Lautrec. Oh, Henri, you'll always be a very special French dwarf to me.

Follow the golden fox down the golden hall.

Dance party. Can we talk about it?

Little Boots-New In Town(Golden Filter remix)

In Los Angeles, I say Golden Filter, you say jump. Or dance, or get low, or hey how may authentidisco girls do you think I could take home? Because, after all, they taste like bubblegum and shattered disco ball shards.

Here, no one bites. Oh well.

Looks like I'll be that loner kid in neon tomorrow.