Wassily Kandinsky, “Tanzkurven: Zu den Tänzen der Palucca,” Das Kunstblatt, Potsdam, vol. 10, no. 3 (1926)
Claire Keane
Mike Driver
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todays bird

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we're not kids anymore.
Xuebing Du

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will byers stan first human second
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Sweet Seals For You, Always

Love Begins
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@letsbirdland
Wassily Kandinsky, “Tanzkurven: Zu den Tänzen der Palucca,” Das Kunstblatt, Potsdam, vol. 10, no. 3 (1926)
La Garconne is having the most lovely sale this weekend. Lots of dreamy, floaty tees, just before the heat sets in, including a load of Etoile shirts in linen.
Beat Poetry Reading, 1955.
Photo by Susan Wood
My face, in class, all day every day.
ALC's duffel: half the price of the Sofia Coppola, still wildly unaffordable. Ragingly impeccable, via Stop it Right Now.
1978
Charm may be useful in one’s dealings with others, but it is scarcely useful in one’s dealings with oneself, and has no place in a good diary.
- Andrew O'Hagan, London Review of Books.
Light mornings, bright cookware, badass, over-the-top robe: a recipe for greatness.
NEW JUMPSUIT! Thanks to Miss Moss' post on Zoé G. Kocsis's amazing lookbook, I bought this jumpsuit from her Etsy shop. I cannot express the depths of my love. It's made of slouchy but substantial jersey, and she made it in a smaller size just for me. It's going to be pretty boss once the weather gets a little warmer, but I'm already doing some hardcore lounging in it. Get yours here.
Spent some quality staring into the infinite depths of this baby today. HOW CAN BROWN AND PURPLE WORK TOGETHER LIKE THAT???
The one woman who gets to tell Anna who's boss.
Yessssssssss. (via STREETFSN)
The hat worn here is actually from Garnet Hill. They make these cashmere hats every winter that miraculously are warm and snuggly while having room for my voluminous curls and mostly preventing awful hat hair.
I took exactly one picture on my recent weekend jaunt to D.C. This was it.
This happy little psychedelic tube is getting me through the endless, frigid, light-sucking black hole of despair that everyone has agreed to call 'winter' this year. After months of dry air, wool hats, and mornings with the covers pulled over my head, my hair quickly becomes a brittle birds nest. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm slowly giving myself weird bangs because my hair keeps catching in my glasses and breaking off. At least when I use this stuff, I get revitalized locks for a good week. Plus, it smells even better than heaven - it smells like summer.
Cozy winter market day, complete with perfectly snot-green sweater, the ultimate cashmere hat, and self-satisfied "I-just-finished-a-paper" smile.
Yes, please, thank you. (La Casita de Wendy via Miss Moss)
Today is my twenty-fifth birthday. I spent the morning at the market, eating pistachio macarons big enough to pass around like a joint, and gooey egg sandwiches. I've been gifted spices from Lior, a beautiful volume of Dante, a drapey, heathered Everlane tank, and the time to lounge around in said tank and read Dante. Best of all, winter broke for a moment, and the world is flooded in warm, miraculous light. A warm-ish wind is making the branches of the tree outside purr against the window. After months of darkness, I feel buoyant.