i am a fashion designer. gee
click here to maximize your minimalism!

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click here to view my favorites from the archives. gee




are you a fonts enthusiast? a typophile?
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find the beauty on your daily walk! take time to notice the details of your landscape.
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there is nothing like seeing a great handbag in action.
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plastics are our future. how can you resist plastic? it is so shiny and pleasing. I have a penchant for plastics.
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chronicling my quest for the one true
Greek Cup
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have you ever noticed the similarity between nyc fire call boxes and benevolent Kannon, goddess of mercy?
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every design, fashion and art magazine I read lately features some important directional artist making big contributions to their genre. and where do they live? brooklyn!
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who says there are no more 'new ideas' in art and design? the newness is in the juxtaposition.
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this is how I really get things done. with my little green co-worker/task-master.
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my clothing & accessories design
east-meets-west minimalism

my site

the look
dressy utilitarian

my concept
useful, economical, modular pieces that can be mix-matched in numerous ways (because why can't fashion be useful and lasting? I think it can!) So I say Maximize your Minimalism!

Satin Karate Belt featured in Dec 06 Real Simple

Voted Best Designer 2006 Style Bakery
'On the Rise'

Daily Buss Feature

Luckymag.com Feature

in the blog press
midtown lunch
the girl who ate everything
queens eats
(into) the fray
funky finds
style document
gowanus lounge
far too cute
ethereal bliss
couture in the city
independent luxe
decor 8
funky finds
urban socialite
lady licorice
high fashion girl

more press...

furniture (especially chairs from the 50s and 60s), uniforms, repeating patterns, menswear, Oscar Niemeyer, traditional Japanese architecture, the Rimpa School and Ogata Korin's 8-Point Bridge, Matisse, bromeliads, succulents and other waxy flora

particular loves
bamboo, coral, moss, woodgrain, silhouettes & other cut-outs, plastic, low-resolution images, the photo copier, off-registration prints, Max Ernst's Lunar Asparagus, NYC fire call boxes that look like Kannon, Fauvist color sense, the Noguchi Museum, pretty much all of Abstract Expressionism

magazines of current interest
Domino, Elle Decor (British), ARTnews, Art in America, Wallpaper

favorite heel style
the wedge, but a sleek modern interpretation

second favorite
the stiletto

current shoe obsession
alas, the sneaker. (because I live in nyc and walk a ton!) but not too sneakery of a sneaker. more of a sneaker disguised as a shoe, like a mary jane style or a high-tech looking black one with a metallic accent. how about Royal Elastics? I must go try some on. I really like the non-sneakeryness of their styles.





cutting table of my dreams

Just look at this cutting table! Truthfully, it was my favorite item at the Conran Shop. Apparently, they sell fabric by the yard. But woefully, not this cutting table. Sigh.




Anonymous Anonymous said...

The table itself was pristine. It was shimmering. It was cold and piercing as a Hudson Hawk, yet as warm and inviting as my favorite nook at the corner bistro where I’d just had lunch. The table’s coat of armor shown brilliantly in the din of florescent light. It was virgin steel, with nary a mark, nor a smudge, nor a speck of dust on it.

A large semi-circle divot cut like a scar across its otherwise featureless face. Had there ever been a bolt of fabric there? I didn't think so. I wanted to climb into that scar, to extend the length of my body against that semicircle and feel the gentle caress of the steel on my tingling skin. But I couldn’t bring myself to touch the metallic flesh of this masterpiece, fearing I’d leave a mark and forever disparaging its otherwise spotless reputation.

Beneath the table a well-worn set of shears sat idly atop a stack of order forms filled out long ago and long since filled. But they weren’t filled here. No, nothing had ever been cut here. This was new. This was pure. This was not a place where fabric was cut. This was a place from which dreams were born, the dreams of countless designers with designs on fulfilling their dreams. This was a magical place, where the air hung motionless and the only sound was the buzzing of the banks of florescent rods overhead. Even the industrial tile floor took on a semblance of importance when sat upon by such a magnificent specimen.

I felt my body begin to quiver in that all-to-familiar way, I reached out one hand to touch the smooth, hard surface of my love. But before I could graze it, my body convulsed in an explosion of light and sensation such as I’d never felt before.

And as I fell to my weakened knees in front of the altar of my own making, so close but so out of reach, a single tear rolled down my cheek.

“You aren’t mine,” I whispered. “You aren’t mine or anyone else’s, nor can you ever be.”

And with that I kneeled motionless, the harsh florescent light beating down on me in a disapproving glare of superiority. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for the time that could never be.


12:43 PM  

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