Two very important announcements greeted me today: the first is the death of Apple co-founder Steve Jobs and the second is the awarding of the Nobel Prize for Literature to Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer. The former died at 56, hanging on to the creative reigns of Apple up to the very last, only giving up when his body couldn't take it any longer. The latter, at 81 and still alive, received an award for his life's work. Though he suffered a stroke in 1990 that left him partially paralyzed and unable to speak, he continued to write and publish poetry. While Steve perfected media, Tomas provided content. Both have been described as visionaries. (Coincidentally, I also just watched The Last Emperor last night, a documentary on Valentino and the last days of the designer in his own fashion house.)
I wasn't expecting either last Friday, when I wore this wonderful hooded cape by Don Protasio. But as I do not wear Don Protasio regularly, I inhabitted a different way of thinking.
Vest, Don Protasio
Henley, cK Calvin Klein
Belt, Brave Beltworks
"Benedict III" necklace, Bosquejo
It felt different, somehow liberating. I loved it but felt that I was going ahead of myself. What should have started inside, I replaced with something external.
Sure I love wearing nice stuff, I love working with my hands and producing beautiful things, but have also found myself using the word "love" for things that I merely enjoy. Yes, fashion can occupy me fully, but not consume me. On the extreme, sometimes I feel like a heretic, and would want to do nothing but spit at it.
There is only one thing that consumes me, and you can barely find it in these pages. This blog has sounded like a very long elegy. It has been dying but I just couldn't let it go. That happens when things become too easy. But now things are converging again, layers are joining back together into one tight cocoon.
You know where the metaphor leads to. Let's give it till the end of the year, my last days as a 29 year old. Then after that let it rustle like leaves, like discarded husks. Who knows what will grow from the soil once I've gone?
I need to "stay hungry", to "stay foolish". See you when I see you, in whichever form.