daydreams of pretty lace, hand-embroidered details. lost in the 1800s somewhere between rainy london alleyways and english meadows. will spring come this year? i have doubts when it continues to snow and rain and sleet and slush and wind. i am waiting patiently for the tulips to come and cherry trees to blossom.
hand-written letters, sealed in wax. those days are gone i fear, true letters written with quill and ink. i get so easily lost in romanticism. i watch too many period films maybe. there is something so enthralling, whimsical about them though, this age of gentleman and choreographed dances. ponds and walks through sparse forests that open up to fields of lavender. do these days still exist? maybe only in my mind and in yellowed pages of english classics.
i always feel so inspired in the late night evenings, when i can just rest and little thoughts find their way into my brain. some good ideas some not so good but there is always inspiration after a good film and a strong coffee. i turn on beach house and more comes. i am thinking about filming a little film with david's help/ he has a nice camera i just need to learn to use it. and wait for the streets to dry to go outside with it. i want to take it out for a walk. but its so cold and wet these days. i have never worked with film but i have always been interested in the moving image, moving pictures. i wish one day to be truly great at something. really great.
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