#academia aesthetics
what is it about a certain chilly breeze, about a certain specific scent of books or wood or the sea, or about the gaze of a companion that evokes such specific emotions? what is the source of deja vu, or perhaps, yearning? what makes us long for something more, for something further than what our fingertips can graze? do we, subconsciously, sense that our souls once sang in a world that is a lifetime away?
—hypotheses and predictions scribbled on the corners of pages, out of reach and untamed by the lined notebooks
—almost-decent hairdos; short, slightly ruffled hair, a low ponytail with locks of hair falling into one’s eyes after a day of being absorbed in work
—alternatively, impossibly immaculate hair
—a wild glint in one’s eyes, a sudden stroke of inspiration
—the hushed but hurried flipping of pages
—a collection of pens of wholly different brands and in entirely different states; some with bits of plastic chipping off, some with parts that seem to be pieced together using different pens
—penning down every thought or potential idea, on any surface that has the misfortune of being nearest to you
—noticing every single detail of the movement of something, your mind wandering from how it works to how it fits into the grand scheme of things
—off-putting yet thought-evoking questions
—either having extremely organised notes with clear-line diagrams and labels, or having sketchy diagrams and spur-of-the-moment notes. no in-between.
—always going through black or blue-black pens the fastest
—wandering through a library or bookshop with no intention nor end-goal, yet finding yourself exactly where you needed to be
—low-cut doc martens with mid or low socks
—cream or dark-coloured pants with a loose white blouse
to finding;
hands reaching out towards each other in the depths of the sea, a lone lighthouse standing in the midst of the ocean, waves that roar and grow only taller, the sea spray and the salty breeze kissing your face, odd things washing up onto shore, letters written in cursive and effortless script, beholding the words of a lover.
hi it’s been a hot minute because of life and everything but i present to you: nautica, a collection of aesthetics of the sea.
to seeking;
ships out at sea waiting to be sailed, sails caught in the wind, the crash and lull of waves against a rocky shore, the sound a symphony of promises of a new life, a telescope atop scattered maps and papers, a misty seascape before you, beckoning you closer.
am i tired from being caged by the walls of modern city life and yearning (again) to be free or did i just not sleep enough
mostly shades of beige in the closet, going to modern Asian-themed tea shops in the middle of the city, coats that fall straight, simple two-toned stationery from Japanese shops, short black heeled boots, buns (messy or neat), hosting dimly lit dinner parties with graphic designers and people in high end retail, dark lips and no other makeup, a tenth story flat with at least one brick wall, reading about fashion and its history, pinterest as their only social media, sleek gloves in the winter, linen and canvas totes, very carefully curated bookshelves.
When Victor Hugo said To love another person is to see the face of God, and Dostoevsky said To love someone means to see them as God intended them and The more you succeed in loving, the more you’ll be convinced at the existence of God and the immortality of your soul.
