Portrait of a Lady, Or The Art Journal That Wasn't.

I started a new art journal, then promptly got bored of it. It had a concept. There were lists and plans and brainstorms and holyflowcharts. There was an end goal, somewhere. And then I dropped my basket, so maybe it will and maybe it won't get finished (I've learned that personal creative outlets are allowed to be just that, holding a certain whimsy when it comes to expectation). Maybe it'll take on a whole new life of its own. Perhaps I've worn out the idea of art journaling for now, and that's ok. Perhaps I'm just too invested in other things. Perhaps it will serve as a bit of kindling in a bonfire as the temperature kind of drops. Who knows? For now, it has served its purpose. And perhaps, it will do so again in the months to come. 

The future's wide open, and I've got nothing but time (and plenty of pages to fill). 

xo

Currently loving // Sevenly

I discovered Sevenly a month or two ago when they did a campaign for Invisible Children. Since then, I've been completely blown away by the work that they do, and the broad range of organizations/causes they have and continue to support! Above are some of my favorite designs from this week's campaign supporting TWLOHA. Find out more about Sevenly and this week's cause here.

And, you know. Maybe sign up for their weekly email while you're at it? Or czech em out on Facebook. You never know what organization they'll be supporting each week, and the designs are fantastic, not to mention their line of children's clothing and accessories! My heart is behind them in such an explosive way.  

People matter. Make a difference. Happy Tuesday lovelies! 

xo 

Pictured above: Women's Beauty boyfriend baseball tee / Men's Live Curiously crew / Women's Rose tank

them sick sad rainy georgetown blues.

Do you have that thing, the one that wraps tight around your heart, so worn out with love and no specific memory but smells and feels just like home when you hold it close? 

It started with an old paint-splattered Georgetown Bulldogs sweatshirt I discovered in my dad's closet when I was in junior high. Later, when I was living in Austin, I found this Georgetown U shirt at a thrift shop for ten cents. For a nascent Houston native just navigating her way in a world that had opened up so expansively before her, it suddenly felt like a very small place...I had to buy the shirt. It should be noted that no one in my family ever has or will go to Georgetown, but these pieces are a comfyday staple of mine for no apparent reason. The fact of them takes me to a place that feels like home. Not a building, not a collection of people related by blood, not a reminiscent series of events scattered on a timeline by association--but an idea of safety, of ease, of unrivaled solace.

Life can be funny like that, sometimes. 

The same way that my car was saved when the flood came because my best friend just happened to be in town and looked out his kitchen window in time to see my baby drowning. It only took 8 towels and an hour with the wetvac to remove the five inches of water that seeped into the car, but it still runs just fine, and that's all I can ask for. Maybe it's because I was wearing the Bulldogs sweatshirt in the downpour, completely fascinated by the slap and roar of cold, muddy water against my calves. 

Or maybe not. 

Either way, it's been a gray, weepy weekend. Lots of wringing hands and wringing out and ripped floorboards and fans to dry dry dry the tears the sky left behind. 

xo  

Dear October.

I could hold the phone to my ear and maybe you would listen. There’s always the pause, the silent surrender, before the conversation begins. An awkward greeting, maybe less awkward for the feigned resilience of the fact that you are there, and I am here, and you are, in fact, finally listening.  

I could tell you that July was for being with the band, and I will never love people any less. (I also have a mountain of picks if anyone needs a spare). 

I could tell you that August Is For Saying Goodbye, but luckily there were (and as I’m learning, usually always are) enough hellos to make it bearable, to the point of More Than Worthwhile. And all those sweaty mosquito nights spent talking out to the universe, swatting at legs and skin balmy with soupy Houston humidity where, for once, I was scared in the deepest way, feeling the wholeness of things.

And of course, September, September. Dates to remember, and everyone got a little wiser, or just a little older. It is also safe to say that the crowning jewel of the past three months was the Lord Huron + Alt-J show I attended at the Bayou Music Center with my brother and his girlfriend, which was about a week ago. Let me tell you something: you have not lived until you’ve danced with some friendly rogue Aussies to a soul-splitting, ear-gasming rendition of Fitzpleasure while wearing an oddly crafted but weirdly amazing sheer galactic print top with a deep-v back and flowing gypsy train situation.

To be fair, there was that stargazing night in Galveston, where the sand gritted in our teeth as we laughed into the wind, flying home to Broadripple and Contact on repeat like cosmic entities of infinity. Tallies for every plane that roared overhead, and a raw yawning awe for sunsets, snapping cameras, strength found in owning our stories, and respect in the ways we've allowed them to shape us. I vigilante bushwhacked through a suburban forest in sandals and forgot to take photos, but brought home chiggers and still have six small scars on my stomach as a souvenir (though, because they lasted so long, the consensus on whether or not they were ACTUALLY chigger bites was never confirmed). There’s also something to be said about eating salad from a giant plastic KFC cup, though I’m not exactly sure what it is, other than it happens, apparently. I ALSO don’t recommend owning a weak immune system that may lead to the next Tonsillectomy Scare of 2013 (which, thankfully, never leveled up to Jessica Goes Under The Knife: 2013 Version). 

There was, of course, a disposable camera involved somewhere in all of this, and way too many books read (though one can never read too many books, ever). Mostly I’ve stumbled upon fictional works exploring addiction and mother-daughter relationships, and mostly as they present themselves as co-occuring conditions. I couldn’t really tell you why, except that it’s hard to say no to a ten cent paperback at the resale shop with a semi-promising synopsis (as long as it’s not romance. When it comes to novels, I have the emotional maturity of an eight year old—someone give me a cootie shot). Maybe I’m using some of these works to better examine the relationships in my own life, though I don’t know how that even begins to compare, but anyway. (Ok, it probably compares. It’s probably really relevant. We’ll call it an accidental anthropological study).

Basically I ate a lot of words, watched some good movies, hung out with some beautiful people, communed with nature, learned so much about myself and others to the point of excruciating realness, and found my new favorite (LOCAL!) record store that’s been sitting under my nose this whole time (!!!)

Basically.

I’ve missed you guys.

October, you’re going to happen one way or the other. I’d prefer things to be easier, but if there is no struggle, there is no progress (according to a recent Sevenly campaign slogan—great mantra by the way), and progress is the thing, so beat the crap out of me. I’m (mostly) ready for it, because this won’t be the worst thing that happens. And that’s something I can bet my life on.  

I hope you dearhearts are enjoying the changing of seasons; our first coldfront dropped around midnight last night. After a bummy week of humid rain, skies are beautiful and clear, the wind is cool, but the sun is still beamin' down. That's the South for ya, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

xo