Screen Shot 2019-08-01 at 3.33.51 PM.png

earth + ochre :: of the earth > dirt and sea > high priestess > books

indigo in honey :: the moon > mystery > deep time > black coffee, cigarettes, and toast

ash + emerald :: femininity > bright > temperance > waterfalls and peaches in summer

+these are the color palettes I’m generally drawn to at the moment. if you have other ideas, let’s talk! there is a “personalized” option when you fill out the form on my “commissioning work” page.

earth + ochre

of the earth > dirt and sea > high priestess > books

/you want it darker, by leonard cohen

If you are the dealer, I'm out of the game
If you are the healer, it means I'm broken and lame
If thine is the glory then mine must be the shame
You want it darker
We kill the flame

Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name
Vilified, crucified, in the human frame
A million candles burning for the help that never came
You want it darker

Hineni, hineni
I'm ready, my lord

There's a lover in the story
But the story's still the same
There's a lullaby for suffering
And a paradox to blame
But it's written in the scriptures
And it's not some idle claim
You want it darker
We kill the flame

They're lining up the prisoners
And the guards are taking aim
I struggled with some demons
They were middle class and tame
I didn't know I had permission to murder and to maim
You want…





indigo in honey

the moon > mystery > deep time > black coffee, cigarettes, and toast


A letter written to Robert Mapplethorpe, from his first love, Patti Smith.

Dear Robert,

Often as I lie awake I wonder if you are also lying awake. Are you in pain or feeling alone? You drew me from the darkest period of my young life, sharing with me the sacred mystery of what it is to be an artist. I learned to see through you and never compose a line or draw a curve that does not come from the knowledge I derived in our precious time together. Your work, coming from a fluid source, can be traced to the naked song of your youth. You spoke then of holding hands with God. Remember, through everything, you have always held that hand, grip it hard, Robert, and don’t let go.

The other afternoon, when you fell asleep on my shoulder, I drifted off, too. But before I did, it occurred to me looking around at all of your things and your work and going through years of work in my mind, that of all your work, you are still your most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all.




IMG_6703 (1).jpg




ash + emerald

femininity > bright > temperance > waterfalls and peaches in summer

IMG_6700 (1).jpg

IX . Space and Time

by Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

Up against another human being, one’s own procedures take on definition.

Geryon was amazed at himself. He saw Herackles just about every day now. The instant of nature

forming between them drained every drop from the walls of his life

leaving behind just ghosts

rustling like an old map. He had nothing to say to anyone. He felt loose and shiny. He burned in the presence of his mother.

I hardly know you anymore, she said leaning against the doorway of his room.

It had rained suddenly at suppertime,

now sunset was startling drops at the window. Stale peace of old bedtimes

filled the room. Love does not

make me gentle or kind, thought Garyon as he and his mother eyed each other from opposite shores of the lights.

He was filling his pockets with money, keys, film. She tapped a cigarette on the back of her hand.

I put some clean T-shirts in your top drawer this afternoon, she said.

Her voice drew a circle

around all the years he had spent in this room. Geryon glanced down.

This one is clean, he said,

it’s supposed to look this way. The T-shirt was ripped here and there.

GOD LOVES LOLA in red letters.

Glad she can’t see the back, he thought as he shrugged on his jacket and stuck the camera in the pocket.

What time will you be home? she said. Not too late, he answered.

A pure bold longing to be gone filled him.

So Geryon what do you like about this guy this Herakles can you tell me?

Can I tell you, thought Geryon.

Thousand things he could not tell flowed over his mind. Herakles knows a lot about art. We have good discussions.

She was looking not at him but past him as she stored the unlit cigarette in her front shirt pocket.

“How does distance look?” is a simple direct question. It extends from a spaceless within to the edge

of what can be loved. It depends on light. Light that for you? he said pulling a book of matches

out of his jeans as he came towards her. No thanks dear. She was turning away. I really should quit.





mood board images: IG @unclaimedcombinations // @julystars // @vogue // @t_o_o_g_o_o_d // @heidilynnheidilynn