I hate rain and I hate wind even more. I don’t quite understand how anyone can enjoy these unless your prepared and happy to be blown about and end up looking similar to a drowned rat. However, as much as I do really despise them, the aftermath of rainwater is something extraordinarily captivating.
The raindrops appear so perfectly placed on surfaces, moving and connecting with others, whilst the city lights glisten in the reflections. It’s a photographers dream. As I explored London in the early evening yesterday I became significantly soaked and frustrated that I was unable to photograph anything outdoors. However once the rain had come to an end, I could fully appreciate my surroundings. There are very few sights that can compare to the beauty and calm of a city night after a downpour.
Here’s one of the few tests that I can compare to a legit rare part.
I’ve clearly got some work ahead of me. Interesting to note though, the floor polish trick does help resin pieces look more clear. Tried it with one of the krana I’ve made, but not with the “tablecoat resin” yet. Hmmhmhmhmhm
Edwige Belmore …Rest in Power … I first met her in 1983 while working as a ladies’ room attendant at the NYC club Area. I was new on the scene and feeling awkwardly out of place when her big beautiful red lips kissed me on the cheek as she was applauding me for looking “ unique” . in 1987, I was a cocktail waitress at her cabaret night on 13th and 6th . She was the hostess and chanteuse and living life with a passion and flair few can compare.
if I was, would you be?
April 2, 2010 by Edwige Belmore
My life has been nothing but a blink…. a breath…. a hiccup…. a sneeze…. I’m opening my eyes and everything burns. everything ’s blurred. I see a bridge, I’m crossing it, I’m almost over it. Am I the bridge I need to cross and get over? Bridge to what? I’m confused as always, and yet the clarity of my emotions is frighteningly blinding, burning, crippling. No wonder I’m losing my eyesight along with the rest of my human capacities…. Am I becoming the crumbling stones of what used to be a path, a destination, a temple? Am I the pounded dirt of a family home, or the dust one kicks in anger? Am I a rock, a root, a pebble, a leaf, a feather? and again what would be my purpose? if I was a rock, would you stand on me or hit me with myself? if I was a root, would you grow with me or trip and fall? if I was a pebble, would you collect me or throw me in the river? if I was a leaf, would you gather rain drops on me to quench your thirst or crumble me? and if I was a feather, would you let me float in the wild wind or wear me on your neck and nestle me on your heart? If I was, would you be?