Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Posted by Studio Procter at 1:02 AM
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Thursday, November 04, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
I dreamt that in California the Apple corporation had invented the idream "app" for their little telephone. If you put your iphone next to your bed it could capture a photograph of what you were dreaming of.
So i bought it, downloaded it, but it didnt work. Every morning when i eagerly checked the pictures all I ever got was the same image of a distant black sea. I was so angry, so i called Steve Jobs to tell him the app didn't work and i wanted my goddamn 75 cents back. When he picked up the telephone he was very quiet and sympathetic, like some kind of angel and he listened for a long time to what i had to say, and at the end of my complaint he told me he was so sorry but it wasn't his apple that was broken it was my dreams.
Posted by Studio Procter at 12:45 AM
Friday, October 15, 2010
The great red bus trundles, very slowly towards the river.,
Through another dull hangover buzz i watch from the upper deck.
I am not in my city i have no responsibilities here, this is almost leisure.
An endless grey city unfolds with such beauty in its fabric.
In the "The City" magnificent buildings, sit in their ridiculously cramped locations.
There the bank of England, (in a few hours from now, sitting for rich hours in the observation deck of the Tate modern, G will tell me something wondrous about its architect Sir John Soane and his tragic draughstman Gandy).
But now descend at London Bridge, and quickly deeper under the bridges into another world. The Borough Food Market, the smell rushes up, you are not prepared for its delicious power, all is weaved within it, rich Meats and cheeses, freshest of vegetables, vast skillets of exotic curries, Tarteflet, breads. homemade pate, golden pastries, food heaped upon food like barricades Your mouth has become very wet,
This autumn air is sharp cold and feel the cooking warm your skin as you pass as the odour seeps into your head as the crunchy colours spring upon your eyes.
And then, you see the sign "fresh hot pies!" and it is all too much.
Posted by Studio Procter at 8:30 PM
Back in the smoke. Been a long time.
London, returning to my old home. All this was my home.
Moving through it, it is truly endless, magnificent.
A massive wonderous machine cranking beneath and around you.
Returning to my old home.
The day wears on I slowly realize I am not known here, I have been completely and utterly forgotten and i am frightened.
Posted by Studio Procter at 8:29 PM
Friday, October 01, 2010
The Show is so late to start , the heavy hour passes the beautiful glittering crowd becomes very restless.
It is not her fault Lanvin is running late we are waiting for their audience to transfer.
The front row is indeed sparse and for a while now the most audacious (and beautiful) of fashion students keep trying to poach these prized locations. But they are sweet and naive, this will never happen and they are beaten back time after time.
We begin, it erupts, all is forgiven, The show is wonderful, the shapes perfect, it looks so easy, Fascinating make up and hair with mud/plaster half masks. ideas everywhere, and she herself looks so happy, yes that is it the show is happy, human and joyous.
Posted by Studio Procter at 9:10 PM
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Posted by Studio Procter at 1:07 PM
Posted by Studio Procter at 1:05 PM
The church is only a barn now but the tiny cemetery goes on, its close sea wall unusually low for this sheltering land, permits the view across the insane waters of Scapa Flow and beyond the Hoy Hills rising up.
My mother proudly shows me her grave that she has bought for Fifty pounds.
Posted by Studio Procter at 12:56 PM