Wednesday, April 27, 2011

highland happiness

And so, hawkandfallow finds herself in Scotland.

which we performed in January 2010, 
is now on tour to Edinburgh, Glasgow and Stratford upon Avon.

What a delight.
Three new places to discover.

I have been to Edinburgh a few times, but never for this long 
(six whole weeks)
and so there is much adventure to be had
(in between rehearsals and performances that is)

I intend to squeeze every last drop out of this beautiful city.

Yesterday I had some time off and explored the Old Town, 
Victoria street and Grassmarket.

I happened upon the most wonderful place -

The Red Door Gallery

their mission:

·    We provide exhibition space for talented and prolific artists (both emerging and those established), that can demonstrate ambition and are dedicated to high standards of practice.

·    We show work that is accessible and affordable to those who do not usually visit galleries, as well as to the avid collector.

·    Democratise art, by making work accessible to people. We provide clear and simple information on the artist and their artwork whenever possible. We create a welcoming and informal environment for people to feel comfortable when viewing work.

·    We actively invite a large variety of people to the gallery and hope the work displayed will challenge their opinions.

·    We take risks by showing work that is not controlled by convention.

·    We promote the idea that artwork is a good investment and provides value for money for our customers.

Don't you love this?
Don't you love them?

(and they have a blog and shop)

I do love this particular piece by Emily Hogarth
entitled 'Edinburgh', apt?

I also bought a copy of 'oh comely' magazine issue 5
which deserves a post all of its own.

and, that, it will get

me xxx

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Friday, April 22, 2011

2 + 2 = 4

this day a few years ago, I was born ...
and this was number one

me xxx

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Monday, April 18, 2011

the last picture show

on Friday sister and I went to see
"Set in a small Texan town in the early 1950s, it centres on two friends - popular Duane (Jeff Bridges), who's dating wealthy Jacy (Cybill Shepherd), and the sensitive Sonny (Timothy Bottoms), who embarks on an affair with the school coach's wife. Adapted by Bogdanovich and Larry McMurtry from the latter's novel, it succeeds both as a funny, touching, psychologically astute coming-of-age tale and, thanks partly to Robert Surtees' magnificent monochrome camerawork, as a wonderfully vivid evocation of period and place" 
 (Timothy Bottoms as Sonny)

 (Jeff Bridges as Duane)

(Cybill Shepherd as Jacy)

a little taster ...

I fully recommend

me xxx

Sunday, April 17, 2011

it seems I just cannot let go

"I was never really insane 
except upon occasions when my heart was touched."
Edgar Allan Poe


 (images via weheartit)

me xxx

the wilhelm scream

this tune soothes and moves my soul
it makes me want to roll around 
maybe by myself, maybe with someone else

me xxx

Thursday, April 14, 2011

in conversation

Peace, grazed heart.

Flashes of touch and lips,
And now alone.
A well of tears.
Spasms that thrive on bitter hurt.

You simply felt.
You feel.
That is how you are.
Sensitive to the slightest touch
Alive, willing, free.
Do not wish for anything else -
Another way.
It is this depth of passion,
this trusting,
this open book,
that makes you, you.

And there will always be a price to pay
Whichever beat you choose to live by

yes you feel trampled upon 
yes the wound goes deep 
yes you laid it bare for wolves to ravage -
And they did.
What is the alternative?
A hardened organ?
That cannot pulse without the massage of another's hand?
A glazed eye
A hollow breath
An empty touch

And how will you survive
Buried under your veil of denial
Behind your closed doors
In airless rooms

Continue to feel
to put every beat
every breath
into all you do.
It is this depth of passion,
this trusting,
this open book,
that makes you, you. 
(by hawkandfallow)
me xxx

Pure Harte strikes again

a wonderful Easter film 
from Lisa O'Dwyer 
featuring the beautiful dresses 
from Pure Harte 

(pop over to her Etsy Store to get yourself one)

it makes you feel happy inside doesn't it?

me xxx

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

me xxx

new work

I am very excited indeed to reveal a few sneak peaks
of the new series I am currently working on

Waking Heart :

Red Riding :

Princess :

(all photos shot by the wonderful Katherine Leedale)

a lot more to come from this well ...

dig deep, dig deep

me xxx

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

There is a storm,
she is brewing
I will await not her arrival
spits and claws
her casual victims strewn
and my scars still alive

I step once more aboard this familiar carriage
destination, freedom
my head straining to be held high

I buy not into false escapism
it's hollow laugh and carefree airless steps

My freedom will have foundation
My freedom will be strong

I will throw my head back and truly laugh
safe in the knowledge
that strands will not be caught in the trappings
in the spokes of this wheel that returns
and returns and returns again

each time thinking the conclusion will be different
each time arriving at the same room
each time cramped clumsy restricted

I cry Freedom
I cry Freedom
I cry Freedom

and I wait

(by hawkandfallow)

me xxx

Monday, April 11, 2011

cocktail o'clock

Over at HawkandFallow HQ this weekend
I had a little 'Madmen' get together

The guest list was of an extremely high standard 
  including blogging chums PureHarte and ITripleDareYou

I think we scrub up pretty well indeed
AND Pure Harte was even wearing one of her very own creations - 
isn't that lime dress beautiful?

(pureharte, hawkandfallow, itripledareyou)

I love you friends

me xxx


Tuesday, April 5, 2011

sweet smelling 
home maker
heart breaking 
secret keeper

my glamorous grandparents

me xxx

Forget Me Not

Daughter of a regretful generation, don't feed from their plate
Paths untaken and roads untraveled
The risks of not taking enough weighs heavy in your heart
Never settle.
Lift your eyes. 
Higher. Higher. 

Caught between the unreal realms of your reality
You struggle for the foothold you never had.
And once amazed but now perplexed by this record.
Scratched by the needles that you pricked the skins of others.
Your sweet tasting nectar growing sour on old tongues.
And age. And time.
Never real friends of yours, or mine.
It seems you didn't notice.
Now look, you drag your legs from under their devastating weight.
Clawing at the soil you grew from 
but now wash desperately from under your finger nails.

I must learn but know not how
Your path is not mine
I face what I face
But tell me, how will I know?
 I too will be living and not realising
Just as you did
And I will be misinforming my decisions as you did
Oh help me father
Oh help me mother
My fate I face now so unskilled and afraid

(by hawkandfallow)

me xxx

Monday, April 4, 2011

how wonderful is this tattoo?

I was just drinking a coffee and there before me was this message

thank you life

and thank you nice boy for allowing me 
to take a picture of the back of your neck 

me xxx

Saturday, April 2, 2011


Absolutely beautiful knitted hair pieces at

my favourites ...

I do think I want to experiment a little more with hair accessories.
I don't usually bother with that type of thing,
but recently, well, I must admit, I've become interested.

Watch this space.

Or don't, if you have things to do.

me xxx

(thank you City Sage for the Emmadime tip off) 

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

have run a wonderful three piece spread on photographer
 "In her beguiling photographic series Literary Journeys, 
Tara Darby travels through towns and cities 
across America that have provided the settings for some of the greatest works of 20th century literature ...
her latest work is inspired by Carson McCullers' 1940 novel 
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, 
a haunting book following the fates of five misfits ... in small-town Georgia during the depression." 
Here is an excerpt of her writing, talking about one of the many characters she met ...
Love in Store
"A mist covers the river as the sun comes up, I meet a woman called Dr Love. She tells me it is her mission to spread love and soften people’s hearts. Afterwards I go into an antique shop, the owner is called Robert. He is smoking and mending a broken table. He tells me people are getting bigger these days and chairs keep breaking. He has rows of tools and a letter addressed to him with Mother Theresa stamps stuck on, there is a smell of something cooking. He takes us out for a drive to a forgotten church that he takes care of. Light pours in and he gives us bourbon, ice rattles in the plastic glass. Later we drive twenty miles to eat dinner with his girlfriend. We sit on the porch while she cooks and he asks me if i have a man and is he supportive. I say I do and he is. He says he would be too, that he wouldn’t mind if a girl travelled and followed her passions. I say for some people it’s a problem. He says of course and that any man who says otherwise is lying. The next day he gives me a Indian arrowhead carved out of rose crystal."

 I keep reading the nine short stories included in the article. 
Over and over. They are so powerful.

I am devastated to be missing the exhibition which opens
on 29th April
me xxx

Friday, April 1, 2011

pinch punch

And all at once I am anxious. 
Bordering on terrified. But only bordering. 
Got to keep moving. Foot in front of the other. 
Smile at people. You are only one amongst many. 
Do not allow their minutiae to repulse. 
Don't study their faces too closely, 
their hair, pores, glistening folds of skin. 
Their smell. Don't dwell on their smell. 
Be it a nice one or one of a days work, 
a days thoughts, steps and battle.

Impatience seeps through. Just get there. 
Are all these stages necessary? Patterns aggravate. 
Self conscious movements. No one is actually looking at you. 
Hair tied back tightly. Red lips. Checked shirt buttoned to the top. Coat swinging. 
The track on my headphones is one of grit and filth 
and 'yeah that's right - remember me?'
And I feel the familiar seed rapidly sprouting in the pit of my stomach. With ivy strength it spreads through. 
Adrenaline. Butterflies on acid. 
I read of photographers and their ingenuity, actresses and their journeys, designers and their muses. 
My stomach soars. I feel the tears behind my eyes. 
I want. I can. 
I want to take my belt off and stand up and laugh aloud. 
I am full of power and courage and talent and I can. 
I can. I can. 
I will wear a scarf in my hair tomorrow. 
Why didn't I wear a bow tie today? 
Must look into short stories. 
Write a short film. A silent one.
Write that other thing about that woman.
And start that script about the family.
And what about that idea you had about the umbrellas?
And you should really learn to sketch.

And I know already 
- still in the midst of the throes - 
this too shall pass. 
I have been here before. 
The butterflies will wilt with exhaustion. 
Their wings battered by the constant movement. 
And I will lay in a dark room tonight attempting to locate the ivy seeds that are now buried deep. 
Somewhere in the filth and soil that resumes and consumes. 

me xxx