Paris’ unseasonably rainy weather had to be worked into the script, particularly during the balloons photo shoot scene. During filming of the Paris scenes, much of the crew and cast were on edge because of riots and political violence that were gripping the city.
Funny Face (1957)
Is there a pair of shoes as perfect as pointy toe pumps?
Emmanuelle Alt in an instant!
via Garance Doré
"The blues to me is like being very sad, very sick, going to church, being very happy. There’s two kinds of blues: there’s happy blues and then sad blues. I don’t think I’ve ever sang the same way twice, I don’t think I’ve ever sang the same tempo. One night’s a little bit slower, the next night’s a little bit brighter, depends on how I feel. I don’t know, the blues is sort of mixed up thing, you just have to feel it. Everything I do sing is part of my life."
Happy 99th birthday to one of the greatest voices of the 20th century:
Billie Holiday (April 7, 1915 - July 17, 1959)
Golden sunlight in Marrocos
Un jour comme un autre… (@ Juquehy, SP)
photo by me
a butterfly amidst the leaves in Piedade,SP
photo by me
Chico Buarque define solidão…
Solidão não é a falta de gente para conversar, namorar, passear… Isto é carência!
Solidão não é o sentimento que experimentamos pela ausência de entes queridos que não podem mais voltar… Isto é saudade!
Solidão não é o retiro voluntário que a gente se impõe, às vezes para realinhar os pensamentos… Isto é equilíbrio!
Solidão não é o claustro involuntário que o destino nos impõe compulsoriamente… Isto é um princípio da natureza!
Solidão não é o vazio de gente ao nosso lado… Isto e circunstância!
Solidão é muito mais do que isto…
SOLIDÃO é quando nos perdemos de nós mesmos e procuramos em vão pela nossa alma.
Francisco Buarque de Holanda (Poeta, compositor e cantor)
Em algum lugar de Pinheiros… (São Paulo, SP)
photo by me
a wonderful memory from the first time I worked with Meirelles.
Beautiful Sunday in the center of São Paulo
Taken with my lousy cellphone (!?)
A little look at my all-time favorite necklace, every time I feel any outfit I put on needs a little “lift” I lay this over my collar bones and almost instantly as if by a touch of magic I can´t help but feel a like someone “faintly original” or a whole lot more glamorous. I made the necklace five years ago when I was a freshman back in high school I remember I used so many beads in this necklace that my bead box was almost empty by the time it was finished. The next day after the necklace was done, I wore it to classes and received so many complements, one teacher in the hallway just said “that necklace…” and had a awed look in her face; but the best one was ” I was just looking at it mesmerized”.
It also suffered a lot of alterations as time passed, every time I lost an earring the other pair that remained would become a new finding to be put on the silver chain (or any time I found an earring, out and about) or if found some incredible vintage bead I would place it on the necklace. These past few years fringe has been a big trend so I added a fringe bracelet with two closures so I can remove the fringe whenever the mood strikes me. Each earring or charm lost or found brings me a special memory of the time or moment I was going through when I bought it or lost it, so in many ways its a diary only I can decipher.
what a beautiful profile BB
"Lend yourself to others, but give yourself to yourself."
Vik Muniz (Brazilian, b. 1961)
Ava Gardner (From Pictures of Diamonds), 2005
©Vik Muniz/Courtesy of Edwynn Houk Gallery
The lady and the eyes that stirred passion in Frank Sinatra
There is a willow grows aslant a brook
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do “dead men’s fingers” call them.
There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And mermaid-like a while they bore her up,
Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element; But long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.