I am married to costumes. I have an affair with fashion.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Friday, February 26, 2010

Thursday, February 25, 2010


fairy tale...

I'll be your little Red Ridding hood if you be my Wolf ;)

Thursday, February 18, 2010

burn baby burn ;)

The world is too cruel for the dreamers.

from Nikola Janevski...to the world

the adored beast!

Honore de Balzac, French writer, to Evelina Hanska, a Polish countess, June 1836.

Sunday 19th

My beloved angel,

I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them.

I can no longer think of anything but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you. I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you, a thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.

As for my heart, there you will always be - very much so. I have a delicious sense of you there. But my God, what is to become of me, if you have deprived me of my reason? This is a monomania which, this morning, terrifies me.

I rise up every moment saying to myself, "Come, I am going there!" Then I sit down again, moved by the sense of my obligations. There is a frightful conflict. This is not life. I have never before been like that. You have devoured everything.

I feel foolish and happy as soon as I think of you. I whirl round in a delicious dream in which in one instant I live a thousand years. What a horrible situation!

Overcome with love, feeling love in every pore, living only for love, and seeing oneself consumed by griefs, and caught in a thousand spiders' threads.

O, my darling Eva, you did not know it. I picked up your card. It is there before me, and I talk to you as if you were there. I see you, as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful.

Yesterday, during the whole evening, I said to myself "she is mine!" Ah! The angels are not as happy in Paradise as I was yesterday!

journalist Ana Nestorovska


Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

tattoos - addiction?


potential androids: Irina, Gordan, Katerina
photography Ivana Knez

Monday, February 15, 2010

perfect nature..


William Congreve to Arabella Hunt...

Dear Madam,

Not believe that I love you? You cannot pretend to be so incredulous. If you do not believe my tongue, consult my eyes, consult your own. You will find by yours that they have charms; by mine that I have a heart which feels them.

Recall to mind what happened last night. That at least was a love’s kiss. Its eagerness, its fierceness, its warmth, expressed the God its parent. But oh! its sweetness, and its melting softness expressed him more. With trembling in my limbs, and fevers in my soul I ravish’d it. Convulsions, pantings, murmurings shew’d the mighty disorder within me: the mighty disorder increased by it. For those dear lips shot through my heart, and thro’ my bleeding vitals, delicious poison, and an avoidless but yet a charming ruin.

What cannot a day produce? The night before I thought myself a happy man, in want of nothing, and in fairest expectation of fortune; approved of by men of wit, and applauded by others. Pleased, nay charmed with my friends, my then dearest friends, sensible of every delicate pleasure, and in their turn possessing all.

But Love, almighty Love, seems in a moment to have removed me to a prodigious distance from every object but you alone. In the midst of crowds I remain in solitude. Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you. I appear transported to some foreign desert with you (oh, that I were really thus transported!), where, abundantly supplied with everything, in thee, I might live out an age of uninterrupted ecstasy.

The scene of the world’s great stage seems suddenly and sadly chang’d. Unlovely objects are all around me, excepting thee; the charms of all the world appear to be translated to thee. Thus in this said but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

If you and hope forsake it, despair and endless attend it.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex. Oscar Wilde

Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.

hot bath, body butter and the smell of snow...

Escurial, by Riste Aleksovski

costume design Ivana Knez


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Tuesday, February 9, 2010

nice and easy...

the impeckable Miles Aldridge

Glamour is what makes a man ask for your telephone number. But it also is what makes a woman ask for the name of your dressmaker.

every girl has a dream...

ellen von unwerth's daring girls