Amy’s Matric Dance Make-up

September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

Done on Wednesday evening. ūüôā

Model: Amy van der Merwe
Make-up artist: Nicole Tanzen Best

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Poem of the Day

September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

e. e. cummings

Shoot With Karl – 14-09-2012

September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

This was really so much fun – the model, Nicolene Trom, is a total rockstar in front of the camera and absolutely gorgeous to boot!


Photographer: Karl van Heerden
Model: Nicolene Trom
Make-up artist: Nicole Tanzen Best
Assistant: Wessel Matthews

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Poem of the Day

September 26, 2012 § Leave a comment

To Whom It May Concern

This book-panelled room is moving
at a great speed throughout the universe
(and this is the kind of statement
my panelled reviewers loathe).
I am not on any drug, even alcohol.
I am not hallucinating. (I suspect I am incapable of it.)
Everything is exactly as it is.
And this panelled room is moving
at a great speed throughout the universe.

Tom Marshall

Falling Asleep

September 25, 2012 § Leave a comment

There is a lassitude of limbs,
A slowsweetsoftsafe heaviness of limbs
There is a pleasant buzz, an all-over
A cradling and comforting warmth.

The velveteen wind’s voice wraps
The tap of your keystrokes, and
The rhythm of your
Beautiful breaths, into a song of love and life and faith
Just for me.

And I slip into sleep.

Nicole Best

Poem of the Day

September 25, 2012 § Leave a comment

You Are Beautiful

You are beautiful
But you are also heartbreak
Locked forever frozen in time
A cry I cannot get out
No matter how much I grease myself
With honey
Pink palette of grapefruit, the book on the shoulder
Of the room, the rose gardens
But I do not want you to be so
I want to be spilling forth with the acid yellow honey of the bees
O love, take me thusforth
Into your secret places
I will never travel
I will never wake
You are more than heartbreak
In your fanciful suits and closing sighs
You are more than the shining blue room
On the afternoon of the date, the cold bite
You are the hot breath too I take myself into
The hot red fruit I take myself into
The living breathing thing I take in, I want to
Be a watery nymph in a wooded grove
With you
I want to be a cloud so full of honey
That there is nothing left of me
Until I throw myself into the fire
And am contained forever
I will be contained forever, a thing of beauty
I will be that thing forever
I don’t want to be beautiful with you
I want to be an ugly, wretched, bleeding thing
Pouring out on the windmills
I want to be the locked tiger they can’t lock up
Until it murders and then rages through the fields
Of wild grasses
I want to be so wild they can’t lock me up
Put fences around me to pen me in
I will be so full of fire that they won’t be able to extinguish me
Before the beauty comes I want to be so full of fire
That they can’t tell me from you, my wretched angel
Sweet animal, they locked us in this life
But I think we still have time before we have to get out of it

Dorothea Lasky

Poem of the Day

September 24, 2012 § Leave a comment

Bad Girl Singing

She took her roommate’s cash,
walked out of a supermarché
without paying, lost her passport,
lifted another girl’s and stole her boyfriend,
ditched class to see a boules tournament,
persuaded others to ditch with her,
so they could buy her lunch,
got sick drunk on Sundays,
arrested, threatened with deportation,
and finally, finally after her parents
were contacted in the States
and arrangements made to fly her home,
she went on our little tour
of historic sites and even there
pulled a typical stunt, distracting
everyone from the guide’s good English.
Separated from our group, she stood
in the apse of the ancient church behind the altar,
singing with a voice that glowed
and brightened in the candlelit space.
She sang through her trouble and our trouble,
her lies and laziness, license and dishonesty,
our disapproval and distaste.
Unearthly at first but transmuting
the stoniness of the air, the flints
of stained-glass light, the chill,
her singing, like a lover’s warmth,
entered our bodies and made us
recognize our desire was being offered back.
She sang her rejection of our rejection.
And we stood miracle-stricken, shame-blinded,
renewed by failure more than triumph.
No one excused her. She would have to leave.
But we yielded to her song.

Mark Jarman

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