Alter Ego.

My art is only another representation of altering a memory, and altering a part I wish was better, I don't change, It just had always been-there. -Union
1.Austin Beckrhousment

Laid back, and bright like the sun, the soul of the art follows as a follow up, like a list, like a portraiture, like a definition of pure undiscovered gem. As beautiful as the sea, but never discovered. Like a gem, thrown out by a shell, like a pearl, deep down the vivid sand down in Coney Island. A king never went down his throne for a victim, but he was different. Love saved him, and nothing else let him go. it was art, and the beautiful soulful image of nothing but the emerald cornea. Breathes in, and wants out. Nothing as beautiful as the teal streaks down his brunette, shaved-side, long hair. Flying like a troop down a quiet drama, and nothing else really matters. Only like hazel, and like almond shaped eyes, only that quiet matters, and the freedom was stolen like a dream, and no one can blind a semi-beauty. Photographer.

2.Sophorina Elisabeth Hayes

Nothing compares to the joy she posses, as she walks down, phresh out the runway, a Chanel lady. But nothing comes away in her classiness, except for everything simply wild. She can carry a bag on her hands, or her teeth, and she decides whether or not her runway is cutting it. Just another party animal with too much dreams to reach, outrunning the number of drunk people in the middle of an after party until 1 A.M., and what matters is only where she comes from, a small town girl, to one of world's top models. nothing replicates, and nothing can simply duplicate, she is a work of art, a codec of Fashion. Model.

3.Haley V Greens

As fragile as a glass jar, hardly stabile, and yet, as beautiful as a rosemary field, nothing beats her blueberry heart, and her artistic crimson soul. Yet, nothing is good enough for this young lady. Anything she perceived was just vulnerability, and only in the dark she felt pretty, where no one can glimpse a light shining down her pure, glowing, beautiful skin. And only red lipstick is her best friend, it was essential. It was something she can never live without. And all of the things that happened in the past, lived endlessly in her, she is only as real as a fur diva. Poet.

4.Raspore Minkoff


By his fury, the whole world should respect, under his instant dreams under rage, everything is just on his dreams. Nothing is sane enough for him to fulfill his dreams, and to outlaw his opponent, Austin, who posses the same body. Nothing but a grown ghetto down the hood, but only a dream as clear, and a clarity as dreamy as a broken crime. Nothing should be judged, because he is a creature of judgement himself. A rage and fury only a dragon of red, and nothing else does matter as long as he got his stache. Nothing is as furious as his calm soul, works the other way around. Leader.

5.Guiseppe The Gingér


Away from home, with a light headed behavior. Only a simple laugh and a pose-d behavior, and such weirdness nobody can simply understand. Indie, yet hippie, yet just another contemporary heart nobody understands. Never learnt how to string a guitar properly but makes a proper song with one. At least something good to his ears. Has long hair like the sun, and was portrayed as a female. But his soul is as masculine as a green dragon. Just another boat in the middle of the sea which runs like a pelican painted in all ginger, like an orange ball, miles, miles, miles away from the port, from home, and only under his head dreaming. Musician.

6.Anna Della


A wanderer of time, space, and all the lost and gone. Only a spirit in the midst of nowhere, somewhere the world isn't dimensional. Somehow she is just, a creature of thought, and she could only feel when somebody thinks of her, or misses her. A victim of the holocaust. Somehow she wants to be loved-and she wants to travel around the world, and she wants to live in a sanctuary, and she wants to once again feel humanity. Wanderer.

7.Paul Samuel Abrahams.

Nothing comes first before God. He is a devoted Christian, and all his life, he was born to be devoted to God. An archangel, and a creature without a stain. He is the guardian angel guiding Kennie where his mind is always misguided. A creature of exposure, and purity, nothing comes in between his Clarity. As angelic as the morning star, like a direction of a million stars, a formation, and the beauty of the truth. Archangel.

8.Ryn Univora


Rockstar is his middle name. Nobody really dims his shine, because when somebody does, the whole world is against a hater. Loves glitter mixed with unicorn and a drip of blood, is obsessed with nothing but the state of FAME. All the riches are his, and that nothing takes that away because he is an androgyne and a seller of the golden soul. Talent is his next middle name. And unicorns sleep down his heart. Rockstar.

9.Spectra Electra

A daughter of the Anthemoosa Bay, nothing comes within her way. Only a fierce creature, and a creature of boundless, eternal beauty. Siren she becomes for enrapturing the ocean waves instead of Persephone before she becomes a bride of Hades. Now all she has it all, all the power, all the glory. She feeds on humanity and spares nothing for love-because love can never ever occur on her. Her spell of songs will enchant wanderers, and all there's left is her and her sisters. Like a siren song, like a bird predator. Siren.

10.Kennie

Nothing but a little artist, raised in 97. Foolish, and loved by the whole ego-s till the very end. A big fan of caps-and a prodigy with artistic skills the world could have. Only colors rush out of his mind-and some turns onto a monochromatic spectrum. Like tan-and simplicity of mind. What makes him complex are the other ego-s, coloring the soul with a spectrum he could never understand. His self defense mechanism is basically someone else. A creature of art. Student. Alongside him, there are two more. James Miller&Reinhardt Kenn.

PhotoVogue Features.
Anna Della

THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SENSE

PAR.Reinhardt Kenneth

Model.Irene Wihandi Putri, Gillian Geraldine Gani, Evan Ray, and a Self Portrait by Gillian.

Masquerade Ball:The Untold Stories of The Artistic Womb

The Last Chapter of 2012.

A part of me knew this was going to end disastrous, but another part of me wants to become a part of this, a part of me wants all the fame and the fortune, the money, and the ultimate league, an address of the high society, the society that controls the world, the society that plays the backstage of this horrible drama. The society camouflaging reality onto a better logic, you see. A kiss so sweet, that is how it just attracts you, like honey, all the diamonds and pearls a girl can posses, that’s how it works, it’s a trap and it ends sweetly, it will end with me. That is how I call it, the face of the virtual virtues, I knew this was trouble.

I come out with my beautiful, innocent, crimson heart, I come out and bring that as me and moreover for me and everyone else. My eyes are opened wide, they bring me over, they invite me, it’s like one of those parties I didn’t want to attend at first, but one of the best highlights of my live in the end, it’s a beautiful ceremony when everyone is just-a bit wilder, you see.

Then in the midst of this madhouse, I meet this guy, his eyes as piercing as swords, his cheek bones as striking as arrows of light, but he is the one who has the smile of an angel, an angel so pure I could never suspicious anything more than the word charming. He is as charming as the slight thin rainbows the sky posses, and his awkwardly shy behavior made the colors of his personas more attractive, he is my little lover for the night, or more like every other night, since my mind was set as a long party, whereas I danced my heart through the beautiful tunes I can never ask for more, the charm was all over him when he hit the grand piano.

He is an architect on his early age, he is a man I could never predict I would meet like a week ago, and then he comes over to me, like a crimson, charming unicorn, under the shades of his little husky voice, so sweet he sounded like the thin cigarettes floating on the smoking area on the coffee shop, he is like an ecstasy I can never resist, he is the addictive factor I can never let go, well at least for “the night”.

I am a man and a woman of many personas, I am not just one but partly 12, and this part of me doesn’t want to leave, but everybody else are alarming the alarm I can never understand, I am just a kid and usually these alarms happen turn out to be the part of me who’s right, the part of me who knows and senses the part of the world which should never be touched and burnt down by the darker shades that sound so innocent in the beginning, I am preserving myself in a way, and I can never know when to follow the alarm. The Masquerade Ball sound like my ceremony, where I can finally be hidden and masked

I fell apart on the dress, moreover like under the dress, he is as frigid and cold as his eyes, like the cold blooded creature he is the fire in the water, whereas he is the bigger fire coming over to freeze me down in immortality, I am finally changed, I am finally turned onto a new blood, more like bloodless, my tan skin turns pale, a pale version of my tan, moreover, which isn’t visible enough until I before the next dawn. I am finally realizing all of this trouble will never be worth. I am lost, my innocent is on a vacation and got hit by a star cruise, so every single part of my lighter personas follow me as slaves. I am just this wild, curious, and fierce creature I can never explain to myself, moreover like how I can never explain the beauty of blood, ombre, and inverted triangles.

I guess after all the fighting, the shopping, and the blood sucking, I just have to accept this part of me, this part of me who glimmers under my pale, tan skin which should be visible any time soon, and my hair which is messed around the area where my heart pumps faster. I am hit onto the rocky rocks of my mind, I am finally a feline, I am finally the creature needing nothing more but the prey. Whereas he became animalistic but he sounded more of an innocent, as we raced through our glimmering shoes, which may lead to spirals, he drops me onto one arena.

Everybody else holds an invisible collar for me, they should’ve suspected this heart-racing, animalistic persona which is partly being prepared to marry the dark, to marry the infinity, the immortal, and the end tips of the checker boards, to marry the dusk, to marry the night, the night holding the eye seeing up above. The eye which seeks for his hunger,  for this creature is just darkly screaming deep inside, as an animal, and as a human, as a Hybrid.

But then there’s a new voice inside of me, the voice of grudge, the grudge I want to leap onto, to the addiction which should be no other but my fault, I should’ve trusted his eyes and his mysterious heart, I should’ve sensed his cold persona deep inside that should be trouble for me, a troublesome figure to later become my role model, the king I preserve.

I realized that if he can be as sweet as roses, cupcakes, and glitter, he can be as pathetic as a homeless bird, so my vanity mind takes over, my mind set was being viewed as the femme fatale I became, a wild one, for sure. I am not only fierce, edgy, and darker than the moon, but I am as glittering as Marilyn Monroe, I am a feminist to myself, I am the female empowerment to myself under the crystal chandelier holding the power of masculinity over feminism, a subliminal orgy I can never understand, a pain I should stop becoming. I walk like the glitter I am, I become the jewelry I am worth, I become a pearl and a diamond in the exact same time, I am a final sequined dress, matched under Aphrodite with a pair of Studded Louboutins , edged out with snake skin, I am a woman of red, I am the woman of myself, I am a creature of woman.

But then this little voice of me comes out like a curtain call, it’s fury strikes like an aerial ace, like hurricane burning the end tips of my fingers, the rainbow opening a way for the leprechaun to fake fame, the voice of love, the voice of forgiveness. He may not appear with a white bloody unicorn, but he appears in studs, and with a golden cape and a crimson colored rose, I always thought roses should considerably be marked hypocritical, as it posses the petals of different shades, falling apart in the end.

So I said the word I always wanted to say as a little Alice in the Wonderland, in spirals I walk around the walk, but in the end, it’s a pair of invisible red flippers under these platform and high heels, I am walking in spirals, I am walking the live of Dorothy where in the end everybody gets what they needed, they get the shit they own from the beginning, whereas they never really realized the shades of it, the shades that lies between their insecurities, and I found mine, I found love and it glimmers better in the dark.

They talk like my heartbeat of my past when I come and open up, whereas the one I love is no longer visible, wrapped in the golden auburn horns, where I can never leave my innocence behind, but I can always change her onto me, I am finally the inner beast he brought out, I am finally the starring role of this game, I am a starring role of the dark, and believe me, it’s sometimes a lot better, I am just another girl, hit down the ground to make a change through my shadows, through these thick eyeliner I can only smirk ad blink with to look beautiful, even in my ceremony, and the attendant who I thought was the innocent Mickey Mouse, ended up to be the handler who was hiding this whole time, controlling my acts, and he holds the ceremonial with the hourglass symbol, from dirty, crimson, liquid, swelling through the writer’s nose.

I finally become the lady I’ve always looked up to, I became more of myself, the me I haven’t really met in the past few centuries in my past lives, I believe this was meant to be. I am masked, but visible, I am the creature I became earlier and more now, slowly I put my hands on his, and we closed the part of our eyes which is a medium for our handlers, the eye we see, the eye we know, which is hidden, we are bending our personas onto one, and I know where Dorothy ends up in the end, she ends up masked on her home, and as for me, I am bending my persona with him, we are finally one in two different bodies. And the staring dolls hold my sad innocence, because no one is going to take my soul away, because nobody really sold it, but in the end, I am not a product, I am a controller, I am the lost innocent because I am more of myself then.  I am the part of me I can never really be apart from, I am Ray Kellia Rhodensoma.

PhotoVogue Features:

Marry The Night

Party

THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SENSE

PAR.Reinhardt Kenneth

Models. Rania Putri Sari,Evan Darius Effendi @Red Models,Lukas Atmaja @Lookgraphy,Kelby Immanuel Rusli, Fajar Adi Sulaksono&Crew@Inter Models

Stylist.Nadya Joy

MUA and Videography.Larasati @Lara Photography, Valencia Yong

Hairstylist.Valencia Yong

Wardrobe.Diana Couture

Interior.Theresia The

Lighting Director.Lukas Atmaja @Lookgraphy

Jewelry.BarQco

Headpieces.Dawi&Chris

This will be THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SENSE's last post of the year, bloody unicorns, thank you so much for always having my back, for always being such a doll to my crimson heart, for all your art and your support, and for everything else, thank you so much,2012 had been a blessing towards my heart, see you very soon in 2013, in 2013, there will be no more lazy blogging, kunts! So, I know everyone else mostly is posting countdowns of the bests of 2012, I decided to post this because, this is the past part of me I want to expose currently, and I usually just end up getting bored on my old stuff, so enjoy it while you can, we were born for art!.HAPPY NEW YEAR, don't ever regret, a friend of mine said, that everything you own, will end up owning you in the end, thats what Jamie said. GOD BLESS YOU. xo

ORIENTAL HEARTLINES

Through embroideries, a geisha lies within, a modern one. Within her, she sleeps and dreams of nothing more but a diffusive heart line, whereas baroque comes within nothing more or less than asian embroideries. her tears are rather darker than crimson, but rather invisible after lipstick. Vanity lies within, she needs her ancestry, but also the art of the victorian. A RACE THROUGH HEARTLINES.

A fusion of two different cultures, lying in the same world, both bearing love, hate, and beauty. An implementation of colors, reaching pitches between lips and hearts, yellow, red, faint teal, all racing in the sky, sweetly reaching the core pulled down by gravity.

Somehow, floral visions mark a vision of one and another, and the oriental love marks another race of human beings, like faith and fate, they lie between the back of our eyes and blood streams, running like butterflies down our tummies and segmented hands, as sweet as plum sugar and cotton candy, like embroidery and the stars under the blue and red flag. Like how i wish I saw it, but I don't, the races of wagons and phoenix, against visions of hydra, and sirens, they come together, visibly like a vision of a new fusion, a creature. Fashion, Ancestry, Love, Art, and Passion.

I believe our ancestry are meant to be, it holds a certain point of love onto it, a love for a community you are forced to be, having severely their own culture, but in the end, it is in our human nature to never feel satisfied enough. We hold a power towards something everyone who doesn't have that certain power some of us posses wants to posses, needs to. We are always exposed onto love, but we will never ever accept the love towards the culture severely, as much as loving something we will never have.

"Like salt, it is bonded through crystals and particles of water, an atom of each, combined and planted deep inside love, deep inside an embroidered, anorexic heart, dipping through red, yellow, and faint teal"

I believe that inside every soul, lies the romance, the romance of the heartline, whereas red meets yellow, where red is when someone belonging to the East, a culture of ancestry morals, carved onto the fear of country, against yellow, belonging to the West, a culture of liberation, a culture of freedom and boundless imagery carved like princesses. Like the Sun and the Moon they will never shine together, but both shines as beautiful as they are. The forbidden romance.

But then, wouldn't the drama rage up if the romance is inside our state of mind, running, dancing through our bloodstreams and DNAs, like atoms of pigments, pigments of love, pigments of the misunderstanding of one concept, growing onto a controversy of the word forbidden itself. Like a bird leaving it's nest,a rebellion, towards a fusion. A beautiful disaster, in the end.

Like embroidery, lace was then invented, veiling the embroidery of heartlines throughout the heart. Everything goes back together as one because they come from the same ancestors, through the creation of the loving God and a growth through mother nature. They all are one but somehow bonded onto several. Like particles of monochrome, painted with love in visions under the bright heartlines.

Like a wildflower blooming under the winter, it decays beautifully, the beauty of the heartlines decays onto someone's state of mind, so that it's living essence implements their whole live, both morals and religion being diffused onto one single, particle, as strong as love, a particle of her. Like vines of grapes, they grow to create this rich colored fruit, violet, which stands for seduction and the womb, a vision of girl power, The grape vine, the wild flower.

Like voices of bells under spring, eyes smile through the vision again, they simply reinvent through culture, with horses running through dragons, like golden beads of prosperity under the liberation of the stars beyond blue and red. Beyond the Eye of Love. Luck implements it's color right away, like another shade, a new embroidery, a new reinvention.

Howling through someone's state of believing, through someone's state of hope, in the end everything is just worth it. It is worth love itself, like dancing and tingling memories, of particles as a fusion. As West and East go together, as the world diffuse onto one continent, speaking of love, peace, and freedom, with qualities of morals. A beautiful feminism, a beautiful oriental wildflower dancing like the flag of the state. Everything is alright throughout it, like shades of innocence. The Oriental Heartlines running throughout us, like strands of love and a passionate imagery.

PhotoVogue Features-
Oriental Heartlines
Oriental Heartlines

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THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SENSE

PAR.Reinhardt Kenneth

Model.Diana Putri

Wardrobe.Diana Couture

Hair Stylist/MUA.Diana Putri
Backstage .Dawi, Khasmi

"Beauty is found in all sort of ways, but beauty will never be satisfied, beauty is NEVER prefect, beauty is the difference carved through flaws, beauty is inside out heartlines. Red, Yellow, Faint Teal"

  

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SUMMERTIME SADNESS//751.

Like the scent of summer, the radiation hits the skin roughly beautiful pain. It radiates the skin like blood running through my eyes. Fame is an illusion, but Summer is fairly surreal. It's a part of this unexplainable sadness I face. It's V-the Voluntary Radioactive Indie Soul my heart loathes and loves.

I am Haley Greens, I am like Summer. I am the Summertime Sadness my Lana Del Rey lips smoke through. I'm just fairly ugly, that's how I feel pretty. I am soulless and soulful, both things compliment each other like coffee and gin, like the insanity complimenting a genius mindset. To be pretty, you should just carve out so much ugliness until it becomes pretty. Nobody is pretty enough to be ugly, and no one is ugly enough to be uglier. Everyone is fairly the same, that is why we should carve out the facial mindset. Red is not always Red. Teal is either Blue or Green. Vanity comes in between these tainted pain.

Perfection is a lie, Beauty is a Nobody, It's the charm shining throughout like the light bulbs shining the whole room. Everybody is beautiful and ugly, everybody is in between the delusional walls between the opposite of each other, ugly or pretty.

That is what is beautiful about fashion, beauty, and art, it has no boundaries, it has no limits in this and that, everything is a teardrop falling from the branches of the boudoir. It's like, buying fake gucci is still fashionable, it's just a sin of morality and fashion, that is the ugly and the pretty. Like the loathing mist dancing in the dark, it crashes and hits, the vintage essence of fame. It dies and smokes Marilyn. In the crowd I'm just deaf and alive, when I hear the spring bells of death, in my red ombre sundress.

Collared Fur will hold my name. Like the puppy in the middle of the electrify, death again will strike. I am the campaign you get for free. I inspire too much you see and that is just a shame of how hip hop dies within inspiration. Everyone dies for the new campaign but buys the fake ones. Why don't we all just die and reinvent and wear velvet all over again. Life is like a braid, it sound simple but is harder than a maze in the inside of the rose. I am your maze game inside this Summertime Sadness, your teen idle, your red lipstick, and the ecstasy lingering like fame, blood, and the lining equator of love, lust, and the rusting voices off these factory decaying, beautiful.

In shades of brunette, I emerge out. I want to be a strawberry blonde so I put on a wig, but I also want the world to go away, as I command with my bottle or ice blonde. I want to be Britney Spears and Lana Del Rey, I want to be Marina Diamandis, and I want to be Princess Diana, I want to be Marilyn Monroe and Judy and Benette Ramsey, I want to lose it all, I want to die in infinity and beyond. I want to drink, I want to hate, as smoking pout is not healthy, wearing fur should be an illegal pleasure.

Knives are meant for cooking but some chose to utilize it towards death, that's the beauty of the immoral, they only come alive in insanity, that is what I find genius like McQueen, the beauty is savage, it is beastly, it is innocent, and in the end, it is only in the back of your minds, tingling like an idle strand of bottle blonde.

It's sad and beautiful, the prologue of everything, the prelude, and the finale, the omega, dying from alpha, that is what comes in between the thick lips of truth. Every time I fall down the rabbit hole after I follow the curious cat, I never become Alice, I become Malice, Haley is not imaginable, it dies between lies and eyeliner tears. Delusional walls of blood die like Ramsey's blonde. Why don't we all just go home and enjoy the warmth the cottage gives and read a bible, won't we?. 

Playing pretend like roses and vanity is just a stand forward and backward. Living is alive, Death is getting by, Freedom is an eternal lie, you see. Sadness is just a shadow of your will, you are as sad as summer. Pathetic like the roses dying in fall, this will die, the beginning of fall is coming soon. Seven Five One, like art, the factories will wilt with my soul.

Don't forget baby, Kiss Me Hard Before You Go. Summertime Sadness. I just wanted you to know. That Baby You're The Best. A song to my lipstick and my red fur coats I chose to left behind. I am like Dolce and Gabbana's gold sequins, I am just as paranoid as the dying pastels, like shades of violet the other season, and like the rebirth of leopard, the coats and the imagery of veils. I am Haley you see, no?

I sing the body electric, I am just a bad baby, I am just an image of my vuitton brown, I am not that wise, not a saint, I am just Haley. Don't you see the radioactivity running through the fibre of the weaves this wig I snatched to my scalp?. Can't you see and listen from these YSL stained lips, I am as bad as never and as good as today. I'm just gonna drown and drive from the back of your mind with a Mint Vespa. You see I don't smoke in, I exhale, inhale, and steal diamonds through these dollars.

Everyone will go denim and louboutin-speaking through these studded visions, like frozen yoghurt, health is a lie, pleasure is what comes within, I usually sip the sea salt my hair exhales, love hurts like antibiotics, like the dragon rage jabberworck fires in a million years. I will love you till the end of time, baby, sorry for this madness. Haley you can leave through these gaps of Vogue Italia Features.

Walk like Donatella, bleach my Louisiana dreams, I am a bad couture addict. I would kill for the last piece of sequin I can find hanging around fashion week. I am just an icon I never could be, I am ugly and pretty and stupid and young and just lost. I will love you to death with my eyeliner tears, I can't them, I am your leather studded kiss and the ruffles off your collared blouse. I am Haley Greens. Born and Raised the Artistic Womb. Louis Vuitton Brown-Pink Ombre. Hybrid Feminist.

Blue Velvet, that is how I will close down my tears, that is how I will begin and die beautifully, how I will reinvent myself out. Young, Wild, and Finally Free, and Breathless. The finale of my life, that is what summertime sadness is not. It is a state of mind I wish to be, like my hair, glossy brunette down my lips, full time injected with bee stings. Don't let me down today. I am a long thinker. Ride Ride
Ride. Behind the windows of the voices of the birds on the summer breeze. Idle and Pretty.

"I am too ugly for everything, and physically I am a boy on puberty, so my mum flattered these pictures,

everyone is beautiful in their own way, in the tears of fur, vanity faints with glamour."

-Haley V. Greens (Reinhardt Kenneth's Alter Ego)

PhotoVogue-Vogue Italia Feature

Summertime Sadness//751.

Diana

Diana

Diana

The Photographic Sense.

Photographed by: Reinhardt Kenneth and the 7 Egos.

Model:  Diana Muljono Putri(My Beautiful Mother).

MUA/Hair Stylist:Diana Muljono Putri

Wardrobe: Varity Beijing.

V.

HVGreens.