Lost In Paradise.

Hey, uni-peoples, so sorry on my 2 week hiatus, you may've realized that my blog wasn't available on the period of time, due to severe cyber crime, my blog wasn't available for any sort of published manner, due to inappropriate hacking, anyways, this is my latest portfolio, shot in Bali.I always find the waves to be beautiful, under the sun, the blue just rise so high, like royal blue the king posses. I also do find the mixture of the clouds just so, beautiful, I mean, God absolutely created the sky from  the ocean, which makes it just, extremely, dreamy.

What I find just extremely beautiful about the island is how it's just an ideal paradise, a vacation-island, how the rich palm trees just grow above you like the coconut scent, how the burn just sweetly burns your skin until they tan, how people from all over the world come, and just, cherish their moments under the bright sun where somewhere else is snowing. Like the waves, I believe our hearts are mend and made to bleed the royal blue behavior, like the shades of tuscany and lavender, and an extra amber from the sun, the colors just collide beautifully,

The title from this portfolio is also a song title by Rihanna from her latest album "Unapologetic", which is pure perfection, even through it's not-easy-listening behavior, the album overall is just wild and honest. I believe that, paradise is just in the back of our minds too, I mean, paradise can be anything you believe in and you don't, like the colors, filtered by the royal blue ocean, grow like the wild mangrove leaves and rosebushes.

Paradise to me, is just something to be beautifully be lost in, as for an artist, paradise to me is my own art God preserved, I believe that, the thunderstorms and the tsunami-s are just a lesson to build a better foundation, to build a better behavior, like a nationality building a better city.

Sirens come and sing their silent songs above the stones in Paradise, and they sing the sad songs of both love and decay, for they are only a creature of myth, for they are only in the back of our minds, for only their rainbow hair is never obtainable, for they are cursed with fins and wings. I believe this is how cliche immortal loathing sounds, I mean, the voices from the sea call you, and you're just looking for weary wanderers, that is what being lost is a part about, and like the sun, love is still warm, and severe.

To the end of the earth, the waves reign, like sequined top down, the song glimmers under the sky like the teal green colors the oceans hare with royal blue, it glimmers to the skin in such beauty, the waves just go to the edge of the world and come running back, breathing the live swimming underneath it, providing a life cycle throughout the continents of the world.

Like brush strokes, the ocean reign and carry a bit more of spectrum in it, a spectrum of life it posses, like the visions of light breaking the clouds, the waves will follow, like the silent voices, it mesmerizes the myth the urban citizens tell, stories about love, stories about the lost, stories about the laughters under it, That is just a piece of paradise.

Under the glory, like all the orange trends that season, the fruits emerge out of their trees, the creation sing, with paradise, with the beautiful imagery under the monochromatic spectrum, shades by royal blue and severe brush strokes. Like printed Hermes bandanas, the heart lines flow with the ocean, they flow with the beautiful sun above it, shining like vitality, shining like essential, shining like an aquatic beauty.

One thing about paradise, is that, only the ones who believe has that, only ones who achieve, and ones who fight all over their live for the truth, for those who sing their grace, and for those who ritually preserve what they should. To fight for the righteous freedom, for a revolution, for extensive, and the youth it preserves, and for the ones who aren't afraid to splash themselves under beauty, for those who aren't afraid to drawn in all the beauty.

Hallelujah, a word the paradise sings, from the pale skin and red lipstick, the word come rushing like the royal blue ocean, like all the poolside memories glimmering under the sequined sun, like all the tanned skin burnt slightly with extensive happiness, whatever the heaves declare, that is truly paradise, in the back of our minds, and one day, where we all preserve the righteous behavior we do.

PhotoVogue Features
The Looking Glass-Paradise.
Watersong
Through The Looking Glass
Dark Paradise
The Decay of Aglaope.
Like Mother Like Daughter
Aquatic Gypsy
Like Mother Like Daughter,

THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SENSE

PAR.Reinhardt Kenneth

Models.Diana Putri&Patricia Santoso

Location.Banyan Tree Resorts, Bali. Special Thanks to Uncle Jamal.

November Train to 42//HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUM.

“Choo, Choo”, I heard the voice glimmer in the atmosphere, you see, I’m talking of this train, which is slightly wilting like my senses, I’ve always been a very fashionable lady, still is, I can work like a thunder for a dozen of Birkins, I am a very, rational lady, I only kill for the best, for the products that define my perfectionism. I am always judged as a big spender, but I always ignore the hate, they will pour down like the style running down the runway, you can never get enough of them, but they define your perfection, because they wish to be the person I define.

I believe that, living is just as hard as a model casting for Vogue, if you inhibit the perfect natures, you can shine as bright as a red lipstick, biting down the lower part of your chin as flawless as Marilyn Monroe, like a glam star you can never stop being. Tucking down either your bob, your weave, your pony tails, anything you can ever be. Like a party you shine bright on the living, like charity, you are WANTED, now it just works with your personality, your belief, the drip drops of your rose petal charms, and the whole world getting a copy of Vogue with your face on it, been there done that.

I am originally a ginger, I was and still am an innocent, though I like partying and laughing hard, I just find beauty in joy and fashion. They ask me, whether I’m a saint or a bad girl, of course I’m a Saint, in the state of not being perfect, but a bad girl, in the belief of perfection. Nobody is perfect enough, and models are mostly photo-shopped, whether you like it or beauty not.

Like eyeliner, well I don’t like crying under it, I like shining under it, like glitter, unlike Haley. Anyways, that’s just a piece of my thought. I’m actually casting for fashion here, that is why I am in a Louis Vuitton train looking train, well not exactly. It’s just where I’ll be headed one day.

Just a little girl living the dreams, I am just as real as red lipstick and rose petals. I travel down the wind of dreams and become as real as the writings attached in my body, the writing of fate and faith. I believe everything is granted by God and His art. I believe this ponytail will grow as big as the Marilyn Monroe bob.

A mixture of gas flies up the wind, as I gazed down my little faux fur coat, I check down my burgundy, snake skin Celine Trapeze, I see my bible lingering, with several rare diamond jewelry I got from my ancestors, a bag of make up, several bottles of nail polish, a pair of Chanel sunglasses, a pen, a diary, and several cash tuck up onto a snake skin wallet and a perfectly covered iPhone5,and of course my ticket. I also brought a suitcase full of my designer clothes, my laptop, my iPad, my hats, everything I can possibly find.

As the railway passes through the soft drizzling rain, I tuck in an Hermes scarf and possibly too much changing, I just perfected my runway down the field. You know, like this dance floor kind of few, everyone looked at me in such confusion. I was just, over reacting over everything, since I’m just a small town girl, and now I’m living the dream. It’s that kind of imagery, red lipstick down my facial features, I was just, overwhelmed.

Though another part of me experience such desperation due to goodbye-s, I promised myself that, through these dreams, this will not be the last goodbye. I can date everyone I think of, I can be anyone I want, through the freedom of expression and art. Goodbye, which is the hardest part, would all be worth it after my dreams, I believe that, it will just be another imagery of sacrifice for success, leaving everyone behind.

It’s not the fame I live for, it’s the art and glamour I live up to, it’s the beautiful glory God creates through these atoms of dreams like light bulbs recklessly bleaching their hearts to success, everything, is just a step ahead, a new revolution, until it is perfectly being sewn as a couture dress, a dress of dreams, a dream where art flies like dark particles poisoning our nature like a pair of spiked souls.

As I finished everything, my casting preparations and such, I just realized one thing I forgot to observe, looking for love in the end, as I tucked my polished nails onto my handbag, and I just bit my lip and smiled, there’s this guy I left behind, we used to go on dates together, he’s just a country boy and now I’m living my dreams like a new Dolce&Gabbana print which will have it customs being launched down the runway in any second, like a bestselling fragrance, carved with chemicals enriching the sweet essence possessed by the physical curves, like being backstabbed by Perez Hilton like any other star.

I end up in an envelope, I end up with dreams of love and fashion, I end up stopping a cab, dropping off these pair of nude pumps to another state of fashion. Another state of dreaming. Because the world goes on like my dreams, again these atoms fly away like pink hearts on a mellow aura. Forever, Wherever, I will live by art and fashion, where love never dies. That is how this finally begins and ends.

XOXO

PhotoVogue Features:

November Train to 42.

November Train to 42.

November Train to 42.

THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SENSE

PAR.Reinhardt Kenneth

Model.Wenny Sukamto

Stylist/MUA/Hairstylist.Diana Putri

Backstage.Dawi 

Mr.Backstage, Yes He carves EVERY Art piece on my Portfolio!

Anyways, Happy Birthday Mum, You're a super huge inspiration to me, thank you for giving birth to me, for inspiring me, for motivating me, every exhalation from your red lipstick only makes me stronger, thank you for everything, you are more talented than shining and glimmering diamonds, work under pressure, breathe compassion, love GOD and Art. x

Lookey Lookey, Andudei from Doodle and Denim Jeans finally sketched me, this is based on an outfit post on my blog "Imperial Androgynie", not only he is a talented doodler, but he gives me the BEST solution, he is such a dear(also a lazy blogger and a pokemon master LOL). Thankyou Andu!x (oh and I look so sleep vampire-ish with a cool ARTPOP shirt, where's my stache?)

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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