Drinking the wine and trying to pen accurate descriptions as I went along was a lot of fun =) I found I tended to describe the colour with reference to precious stones and photoshop filters - oh, or blood (fresh, drying, dried) which really is probably either confusing or off-putting for anyone who's not me!
I think the weirdest description of smell was for the Latour '82, the weirdest description of taste was for the '96 Margaux - 'attic stored velvet ribbon of honey-vanilla cream unfurled at last on a golden day. Hints of blackberry and apple crumble. No, don't ask.' And the best over-all comment was for the Haut Brion Pessac '95 - 'Undefinable, lingering, beautiful bloody-edged violence in a glass.' Heehee.
*laughs* I'm mostly sure my life is dull and that I can be the mopiest creature in existence, so my neurons are bemused they could be a symbol of hope and dreams =) - But if I am, all to the good, as anything that makes the world brighter has to be a good thing =)
I like scampering after strange shadow-scraps and darkling creatures... see, some shadows are nasty blood-and-tar acid-ichor things that you wouldn't want to touch with someone else's barge pole. Because of this, sensible people are wary of shadows. But other darkling things are covered in the coal-dust of everyday, and when you clean them of they're incredibly sparkly. And some aren't grubby but are all scrunched up, and when you give them a shake they unfurl into an amazing art-nouveaux web, all complex and squiggly.... But it's a bit like blackberry picking: one gets rather stained and scratched in the endeavor and occasionally freaked out by large spiders and never quite sure whether one will end up at home with a basket of berries or at the bottom of a ditch...
Oh bother - hello inspiration! =P When I've drawn Grim's art stuff I owe, I think I shall have to draw Cinnamon as Our Lady of Bethlem, Patron Saint of Madness. It will probably end up on a jacket =)
And that is why dark angels are needed: the ones who's wings are shades of coal and web and dust stained by the walking in the dark ~ we need the silver white rainbow angels too, but the dark ones walk where the light won't, can't, and do not mind the dirt and scratches so very much.
Sometimes normality needs its nose rubbed in the underbelly of the world at the same time as it is forced to look upwards to the sparkly shiny stuff, and remember that they can be the same thing in different guises. you help me do that.
Hee - that might have to be a jacket too, a sort of steam-punk angel with a slightly wry 'well if you drop it in a puddle of course it's not going to work' expression =)
The number of people who hurl their lives into the muddiest, foulest, metaphorical puddle they can find, and then scream and stamp their feet saying "I told you life stinks, I was RIGHT!"
They think we're not looking. But we are. Some days we wish we didn't have to. But we must, and we will.
I found I tended to describe the colour with reference to precious stones and photoshop filters - oh, or blood (fresh, drying, dried) which really is probably either confusing or off-putting for anyone who's not me!
I think the weirdest description of smell was for the Latour '82, the weirdest description of taste was for the '96 Margaux - 'attic stored velvet ribbon of honey-vanilla cream unfurled at last on a golden day. Hints of blackberry and apple crumble. No, don't ask.' And the best over-all comment was for the Haut Brion Pessac '95 - 'Undefinable, lingering, beautiful bloody-edged violence in a glass.' Heehee.
*laughs* I'm mostly sure my life is dull and that I can be the mopiest creature in existence, so my neurons are bemused they could be a symbol of hope and dreams =) - But if I am, all to the good, as anything that makes the world brighter has to be a good thing =)
I like scampering after strange shadow-scraps and darkling creatures... see, some shadows are nasty blood-and-tar acid-ichor things that you wouldn't want to touch with someone else's barge pole. Because of this, sensible people are wary of shadows. But other darkling things are covered in the coal-dust of everyday, and when you clean them of they're incredibly sparkly. And some aren't grubby but are all scrunched up, and when you give them a shake they unfurl into an amazing art-nouveaux web, all complex and squiggly.... But it's a bit like blackberry picking: one gets rather stained and scratched in the endeavor and occasionally freaked out by large spiders and never quite sure whether one will end up at home with a basket of berries or at the bottom of a ditch...
Oh bother - hello inspiration! =P When I've drawn Grim's art stuff I owe, I think I shall have to draw Cinnamon as Our Lady of Bethlem, Patron Saint of Madness. It will probably end up on a jacket =)
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Sometimes normality needs its nose rubbed in the underbelly of the world at the same time as it is forced to look upwards to the sparkly shiny stuff, and remember that they can be the same thing in different guises.
you help me do that.
Reply
I carry the tools to take the back off the universe and clean the grit from its wheels.
That is why I can never wash the oil stains from my hands.
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The number of people who hurl their lives into the muddiest, foulest, metaphorical puddle they can find, and then scream and stamp their feet saying "I told you life stinks, I was RIGHT!"
They think we're not looking.
But we are.
Some days we wish we didn't have to.
But we must, and we will.
Reply
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