by Candace Bahouth

Her fantastical shoes are mosaic.

"flower" by Candace Bahouth

Imaginative.

"china" by Candace Bahouth

Bold.

"mirrored" by Candace Bahouth

Exceptionally constructed.

another stunning Candace Bahouth creation

Utterly gorgeous.

She designs astounding furniture as well. And her grottos – oh my! But the shoes…

I fall to pieces over them. What say you?

Ships Graveyard in Pakistan #3 by GMB Akash

Born to Work #10 by GMB Akash

Smoke and Ashes #2 by GMB Akash

Please go and explore his website. His pictures are stunning; the stories he is telling must be told. I hope, one day, our paths will cross. Til then, I will journey to the places he explores through each image he shares with the world.

Do you know of an artist who brings you breathless pleasure? Let me know!

one of many

Today’s version of one of many blossoms I encounter on my (almost) daily walk from the office to Starbucks for a caffeine boost at the beginning of my day.

Seeing it helps me extend the perpetual dream that refuses to relinquish its hold on my sleepy brain – you know the one, some version or another of Bali Hai. We’ll see how long it takes my inbox and black tea to clear away the last bits of sand from between my toes.

How does the start of your day look?

So, it occurred to me to try finding beauty in the mundane and to share with you the little things I love about the spaces I inhabit every day and rarely honor with the respect and appreciation they deserve.

in the office and in the moment

Here is the engraved stone gifted by a friend, with its wise message;

the crammed pencil holder, hinting at my obsession with pens;

the plant that continues to thrive, despite my neglect;

one of my two windows, both of which actually open to allow for air and light;

the fruit co-workers frequently bring into work from their gardens, available to anyone;

the gaudy, fabulous pillow that perches on my office couch, which I finally made from old kimono pieces I’d gathered years ago.

When I’m present, I see the beauty in these simple things and in the life I’ve created for myself.

in the office and over exposed

When I’m not living in the moment, the world loses it’s color and everything get overexposed by critique and judgement.

I prefer to live in color. Don’t you?

a dash of color is almost as good as a sip of water

So many firsts today! It’s the first day of the month – August. It’s the first day of the week – Monday. And it’s the first day of The August Break, created by Susannah Conway.

It’s also the first day after a long hike. The above picture should be memento enough of a delightful day spent traversing a burbling creek, multiple times; sharing the discovery of salamanders, tadpoles, fallen acorns and rocks with a precocious four-year-old; trudging up exposed, dry hillsides sporting runaway-truck-ramp type grades; and glorying in being immersed in nature, complete with waterfalls, only a few miles from Hollywood. My calf muscles, however, have decided I need a deeper reminder than that achieved with an iPhone and Instagram.

Since I can’t pass on my aching legs, blistered feet and slight sunburn to you glorious folks, I hope you enjoy this burst of color that greeted us on the way down the hill and mocked us on the way back up. Also, happy Blooming Monday.

How was your weekend?

by Tom Munro via Vogue Spain

A number of girlfriends of mine have recently done boudoir shoots. The concept and impetus is the same, in my view – to celebrate female power and beauty. It’s about flirtation and fun, not about the size of one’s butt.

by Tom Munro for Spanish Vogue August 2011

What a great gift it is to embrace and celebrate that naughty and sexy side that so often must remain behind closed doors, or in the closet, or stuffed down so deep in women’s souls that they are afraid to even acknowledge its existence. It’s a gift to ourselves more than to anyone else we permit to see the images.

by Tom Munro for Vogue Espana

So, brava to Katie Holmes. And bravo to Tom Munro, the photographer who captured these inspired pictures.

Oh, and yes I WANT THAT EYE MASK!

Would you do a shoot like this if you could?

typewriter

I am afraid
to touch the keys.
They haunt me,
tease and taunt me,
striking out in
accusation,
claiming I have forsaken
them.

A grinning skull of abandoned letters,
idle and treacherous.

Fickle mistress,
they whisper.
Expecting a single
draft of ideas to
blossom
full-fledged
into prize winning
happy endings
for all?

A mockery,
a travesty,
pretending art while
begrudging even the hours
of a factory laborer
distracted by whistles
and lunch breaks
and those two lazy fools
making eyes at each other
in the corner,
not realizing that
at least
they share a story while
I sit with
echoes of inspiration
dried out,
grown sharp and
brittle
then turned to dust
in a blanket of
procrastination.

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday.

freshly picked cherries in blue glass bowl

I’m reminded of that board game,
the one I played as a
child –
except I think it involved
apples, not
cherries.

These specimen are
perfect
for plucking.

We’re told not to
pull the branches but,
of course,
we do.

The stems, also, are
supposed to stay
on the tree.
Just the cherries,
naked,
fill the red buckets
to the brim.

One, two, three
at a time they
drop
gently
into my grip.
Even, occasionally, they
pop
into
my mouth.

That ancient snake
could have gained
so much more –
these ruby globes,
with their staining nectar,
illicit
sin
far more than
Granny Smith
ever could.

I bring home
two pounds of fruit.
I know not what for.
The art of bounty,
perhaps?
Placed on the table
just so.
Or the fantasy of baking
for my man,
if I had one?

Far more likely,
it’s a vain attempt to
capture
summer in the
pit
of my stomach
and
never
let it
go.

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday.

heart

I sit and watch, waiting
for what’s mine
to come. Forget dating.
That’s a crime
against my heart.

I want love to strike
faster and more true,
cause this ain’t like riding a bike.
I end up black and blue
every time.

I get tired of my own wailing,
of pretending I’m just fine,
of well-meaning others saying,
“Just don’t date a slime.”
Really? Fuck you.

See, I can no longer be polite.
I’ve already paid my due.
Only an idiot would like
to search for a clue,
with all on the line,

a way to be one of two.

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday.

This bark,
rough against my palm as I
search for
meaning,
answers,
truth
in its crags and crevices, is
unforgiving.

This tree
has witnessed too much and I,
still,
so little.

Stories of triumph are braided in its grain,
and woe.
Etched tributaries of sorrow and
joy and
life.

But nothing is revealed
to me.
I am shut out,
no bite necessary.

Rings of distortion, doubt and drought
keep hidden the heart
of the matter.
Safe.

On behalf of One Shot Wednesday.