Hi.

i am a film photographer, writer, artist, calligrapher and baker. through my experiences i define that which makes us human: the raw hungry desire to live and loveā€¦ and its satiation

thank you for visiting my blog, i hope you enjoy your stay!

cracking open

cracking open

macarons must be the most difficult thing in the world to make

they don't lend themselves to 'taking it easy'. you can't just drop everything in a bowl, mix it up, bung it in the oven and bobs your uncle. they are temperamental, if you whisk the batter too much, if you whisk it too less; if you dont grind the almond fine enough; if you use the wrong type of food colour product; if you have errant thoughts instead of sending positive loving (pleading) energy towards the oven. they are heartless, every little flaw, crack and general misdemeanour shows through. 

i made macarons once, under close supervision of none other than Eric Lanlard. those macarons fell into line without a word, puffed up, smooth, flawless with the little feet. chewy, soft, yummy. they were chocolate macarons with a salted caramel buttercream filling, yeah, you know the one i made for those raspberry cupcakes. how shameless was i to want to lick the bowl clean? anyway, they turned out perfect. well of course they did.

he was french, they were french, who wasn't going to cooperate?

i never made them again. i'm terrified. i think they will forever be my everest. but i am more than happy to eat them. theres something about those bright beautiful almost jewel-tone colours which makes me say 'ill have a pistachio and a rose and a lemon and a...

the macarons however are signs of a much deeper story - that of my attempt to break out of my quiet, serious wardrobe and move into dangerous territory. you know, like colour. its not that i don't like colour, i love it actually, but i spend so much time in black, beige, grey, navy and suitable subtle colours for work that i realised i was seeing the world in a series of monochromes instead of technicolour. 

this dull plodding along had spilled over into my fun time. really? the only thing i have to wear for a girls night out, is black?! id become a 'can't see the woods for the trees' type. something had to give. i threw my arms in the air and marched out one bright weekend morning with the fierce and utter determination which has seen empires topple, to shake thing up... with a macaron or two help me along the way, naturally. 

so far i've made some breakthroughs: pistachio trousers? check; rose skinnies? - why yes; cafe au lait skirt? - goodness me; vanilla jacket?- it goes with everything; crimson blouson? - how many ways can you say raspberry? recently though, i broke some real boundaries: 

coppery satiny trousers

they are gorgeous, sexy, hip-hugging, flare-y and so far out of my comfort zone, i went 360 degrees to end up facing myself in the changing room mirror and telling myself not to be such a wuss. much later that afternoon, laden with bags, i was standing in front of the macaron counter at angelinas, picking four favourites from the line-up when it struck me: there is no macaron like that; no coppery satiny macaron. it looked like i had finally cracked wide open. 

copper satin trousers - put that in your pipe and smoke it

madeleine-ing at midnight

madeleine-ing at midnight

on the inside looking out at the outside looking in

on the inside looking out at the outside looking in