Storegasm: Stefania Morland

The day is beautiful, Kloof street is full of its usual vibrance and palettable energy! The dresses are bright, the shirts crisp and colourful, short shorts and even shorter skirts on the boys and girls parading the street as if at any moment cameras will start flashing and poses will be assumed for the perfect ‘vogue’ moment to be captured.

Topless ‘artists’ relax on their street facing balconies, fashionistas with their oversized shades and handbags glide from shop to shop, café’s overflowing with the cool kids and their macs and designer coffees, lunchers in business suits and cellphones attached to their heads gobbling up the scrumptiousness on their plates, students on their smoke breaks people watching, the odd bergie mozy-ing along, life is good and I am on a mission to find the gorgeousness that will adorn Terry Pheto on the shoot for August issue of O mag.

It is my first week as the Fashion Intern at the magazine and Luisa (Fashion Assistant) is imparting as many tidbits, facts and opinions on fashion as she can with each flowing step as we walk towards yet another beautiful shop filled with everything a girl could not do without, then it happens.

Unassuming white exterior wall with a subtle yet grand name out on the front, I step into the room; suddenly everything is still in the world, I float, my body is tingling, my toes curl and a long and burning sigh escapes – I experience my first STOREGASM.

Thanks to Stefania Morland store, I was in heaven on earth. High-end fashion at its best, space filled with luxurious, creative and unique designs that remind you about the magnificence of life. I wanted to touch everything; soft fabrics, rich colour, beauty and style, garments that work with the body and the soul – everything whispered sweet nothings in my ear. I am in love.

I wonder how many more storegasms I can take. This job requires a lot of stamina in that regard, but there is nothing better than experiencing life's beauty daily :)

Interesting People

I don't know who they are

I was sitting at Mojitoes on Long street on a beautiful Friday afternoon and they happened to walk past and catch my eye... Made me smile.

I like the way she cut her hair! It's not anything new, but she worked it and made it hers. Her whole outfit was a conversation. Stylish because she was communicating not just making a statement. (Don't ask me what the difference is)

So light and breezy. Loved it.

Perfect outfit for a Mojitoes vibe

Where did Mojo go?

I should be happy. I should be excited about life. I should know what I'm doing by now! For heavens sake, where did Akona's mojo go?

I live in an incredibly beautiful and interesting city; Cape Town, in a nice little apartment with a gorgeous view of the grand Table Mountain. I just started interning at O Magazine, forget that it is an unpaid internship, the opportunity is priceless. I have a wonderful family, albeit in JHB, so I miss them a lot. I have fun, complex, beautiful friends, yet I'm hibernating and avoiding most of them because my mojo is avoiding me and I feel a lot less interesting and dark at the moment. I believe in spreading light and keeping darkness to myself instead of infecting others. (One day I will learn how to ask for help, just not right now)

Moving to Cape Town was for a reason. A reason that I though was solid at the time. I had a plan, vague, but a plan nonetheless: I was going to let whatever creativity I thought I had inside of me become unchained and let the results flourish and soar! Where better to do in that than in Cape Town, I asked myself? It was an impulsive move; searched online for a place and a job. Found both. Took my savings and poured them into paying for deposit and rent on my sweet apartment, getting to the fair Cape with my belongings. All this within a time span of 2 weeks. I got a job in advertising (below the line, so not really advertising), I liked for about 2 minutes, but stayed for 7 months with the agency, quit on a whim without a plan just followed my wonky instincts. Now, going for broke, loving O mag, trying to get my old car from Joburg to CT so that I can actually be productive in the job of a fashion intern, doing a lifestyle report on Sentle's show on Metrofm on Saturdays (quick run down of CT lifestyle events), trying to be creative and believing in myself, failing miserably at remembering what it is I actually want to do with my life and overall feeling very sorry for myself. This is not good.

Where did mojo go and when will he be back? What is my purpose? When will I dream again?

Screaming on the inside. Feeling broken.

O Mag Fashion Intern

Ladies and gentlemen, please look under your seats….. taa daa, O Magazine’s new fashion intern!!!!

So I’ve changed my mind about advertising and on the mission to find what it is I’d really like to do, first step; try something new!

Thanks to an amazing and inspiring woman, Robyn,for the next 3 months I will be interning at O magazine, working with Robyn Cooke (O mag Fashion Editor) and her assistant (ex intern) Luisa Rodriguez.

Dynamic duo they are, with a love for fashion and communication – the next 3 months are going to be great. The first week was fantastic, although I had moments of feeling absolutely clueless, which I guess is okay because I am here to learn, and learn I will.

So far I’m learning about the ins and outs of making the fashion pages of O mag come to life, behind the scenes, relationship management with suppliers/clients/designers, what style and fashion really is and so much more. Fashion ignorance will be a thing of the past for me.

I will share more as each week passes, for now, wish me luck!

Check out Robyn's blog for everything style, fashion and creativity! www.styleguidecapetown.blogspot.com

Earring Crazy

I can't help myself!!

Whenever I see interesting earrings, I just can't help myself but get them!!!

Check out my latest *big smile on my face*

Breathing Space

Yes, I absolutely love living in the centre of Cape Town. Close enough to the buzz to feel like a part of it, but far enough to just be in the city. I live in a beautiful apartment block with fantastic view of the mountain, and from the rooftop pool I get 360 degree views of the city, but sometimes, just sometimes, it's great just to get away

This weekend, I desperately needed some breathing space, but not for too long.

The answer to my temporary escape was in Milnerton. Went for a lazy and sun drenched lunch at this incredible restaurant called Maestros on the beach! More than adequate menu selection, the food as good as it looked, the staff friendly, atmosphere relaxed, with the most amazing and breath taking views! It's is right on the dunes of Milnerton beach. It was wonderful.

Confession of a music lover

Music is my life

(How cool is this old school record player)

As much as is it said that music is a universal language. If we all love music, no matter the artist or the genre, why is that often I experience music lovers as an exclusive club where I feel like an outcast?

Fans only area

I recently discovered that some of my favourite tracks were actually produced by the late great J. Dilla. If I had made this little confession amongst my friends in hip hop circles I would be socially castrated. Now I’m all for being introduced to new music or being schooled about legendary music, but what I can’t really get with is being judged for my ignorance. This judgment is one of the reasons I struggle to listen to music with groups of people. Mind you, I have nothing against the die-hard fans, the guru’s, aficionado’s and all sorts of superlative experts, I do, however, loathe the holier than thou-ness of their God-like knowledge which they will not impart without the need for Godly praise.

Blasphemy

A friend once said to me, in response to my aversion to a listening and crit session, that I hate music. That statement knocked me out completely, and I started thinking. I forgive him for his misunderstanding and verdict but it made me realize that my appreciation for music is different from some of my peers. Unique, however, it is not. Many a quiet confession has been made in concurrence to this apparently atypical way in which I relate to music.

Is it Hip Hop or Jazz?

“Hip Hop is the unwanted bastard child of superior forms of music such as jazz…” – Smoking Aces 2

It is said that jazz gave birth to certain genre’s of music such as hip hop, but my understanding of the ‘hip hop’ is that is a movement, a lifestyle with many factors including graffiti art, beat boxing etc and that ‘rap’ refers to the music genre. Then I ask, what is RnB? Growing up I thought it stood for rhythm and blues, lately I have hearing people say it is rhythm and beat? I can easily classify classical music, but I wouldn’t know how to differentiate country from rock. So now begins my dilemma when asked, “So, what kind of music do you like?”

Same difference

My love for music cannot be boxed into any particular artist or genre, not only because I have no idea of either the artist nor the genre but because I ingest the music, not the genre or artist. I don’t much care for who it is, if they’ve been to jail, how many awards they’ve won, who they are sleeping with or any sordid acts they got caught up in , I only care about the craft. Case in point, I didn’t know what Bilal looked like until I met him when he came to Cape Town for the Jazz Festival. I love his songs, but I know nothing about him.

I don’t just listen to music, I feel it, I experience it and its movement through my soul. Music has to invoke emotion, paint a picture and tell a story in order to be rated as good in my ear, or even remembered. It’s not just the lyrics, beats, harmony or rhythm; it’s what all of that makes me feel. Otherwise I am unable to interact and enjoy it, no matter how celebrated the creators are.

Wordsmith

My final confession, which will probably ensure the nail on my coffin as I will be dead to the gurus of the world; one of the reasons I never got into rap music is the great effort it takes for me to fully pick up lyrics. Worse is that sometimes you need to know the rappers back story to understand some of it. I won’t say I don’t get pleasure from the metaphors and word play (when I do actually catch some of the lines)

This difficulty isn’t solely experienced with rap – other genres and non-rappers catch me out. The nineties were plagued with humming through sentences I didn’t know or mimic the sound of the lyrics because I had no idea what the singer was actually singing. It was never as entertaining as the idols contestant who completely butchered Mariah Carey’s ‘Can’t Live’ [Ken Lee – you can thank me later]

Not only the actual words of the songs but the meanings behind the lyrics get me a little lost. Let’s take ‘Scribbled Paper” by Little Dragon – I absolutely love this song, it is 6 minutes of heaven, tugging at my heartstrings. It is a well produced eargasm, but I cannot for the life of me understand what is being said, but I still sing along and try paint my own picture. Worry not; I’m still deciphering some Sade lyrics from the first album.

I love music. Music to dance to, music to sing to, music to write to, music to walk to, music to live to – music is my life.

I’m keen to know what’s bumping in your iPod, so do share – ANYTIME.

Back to the city

Since moving to Cape Town I have not had any desire to visit Joburg at all, until NOW

Look at this sick line up for the BACK TO THE CITY FESTIVAL

What I would do to be there....

Travel Inspiration

You sit in front of the computer day after day and stare at the perfectly placed letters on the keyboard, gently depress them and watch as the black soils the white background, willing them to form words, words that will form sentences, sentences that will form paragraphs, willing those paragraphs to become pages upon pages of a masterpiece. A story that might touch you, a story that may make you laugh, a story that could make you question, a story that should make you think, an unforgettable creation.

Now, what if you didn't have a story and had only the desire for inspiration. You try to ignore the pearly white document, shut your eyes and hope that the letters you so need would magically fill the page. Open your eyes and yet again you are greeted by blankness.

You want to busy yourself with something else because you think you don't have a story to tell; the frustration building. The mind closed to all imagery, the heart refusing to bleed the words, your soul not willing to share. A flicker of inspiration, an explosion of imagination is all you long for. Where would you go to find that inspiration?

This was my problem when I was asked to contribute to the travel issue of Studio_83. This shouldn’t have been a problem right? Unpacking all of the memories and encounters I had lived over 13 months. With so many places to choose from, I could just pick a location and let my mind soar through it, find it’s moment and release its load to share moments in time of a traveling woman. Letting you follow my footsteps across the planet.

Traveling in wonderment through history, creative splendor of man made structures, magical myths, buzzing metropolis, mother nature’s blessings, gifts of musical talents and of course the passion of life.

But where would I let my mind wonder to first? I’ve created a list of top places with emotionally charged memories.

A LITTLE TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

The streets of Salvadore, Brazil packed with gorgeous people enjoying the carnivale; a clebration of culture through music and dance over a week of non-stop everything. Chanting along to traditional and modern Brazilian songs of love and passion relaying desires, lust and motivation to get down and dirty. One such yearning ode:

Beija, Beija / Ta Calore Ta Calore / Mas eu nao quero so beija / Tambem quero amor.

This kiss, this kiss / It’s hot, It’s hot / but I don’t just wanna kiss / I also wanna make love

An Island 2hours off the coast of Brazil, Morre de Sao Paulo, where the hoards of tired bodies go to relax and rejuvenate after the escapism that is the week long party sensation of Salvadore’s Carnivale. Arriving at close to dusk and watching the paling orange sun set over the deep blue endless ocean. An island so small and simple that no cars roam the sand covered street; instead, wheelbarrow taxis are used to carry your luggage from the dock to your beach hotel. Nightly beach parties on one of the three beaches; partying under the stars and moon – paths lined with stalls selling virgin and alcohol cocktails made with fresh fruit which you pick from the wide selection of succulence. Nothing more delicious than the explosion on your taste buds of some strawberries, acai, banana and orange with a touch of Vodka over crushed iced while dancing around fires on the warm sand

Getting lost in childhood memories of the imaginative myth that was the Lochness monster in Scotland, while walking down Princess Street in Edinburgh with castles in the midst and kilted men, cleverly not allowing the wind to share too much skin. English coming out of the Scottish mouths sounding more foreign than hearing languages no longer spoken anywhere in the world.

Being witness to the jaw dropping grandeur and magnificence of the unfinished La Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona, by genius architect Gaudi. Seeing this church made my heart soar with same intensity that it does when I heard a symphony of pianos and violins leading an orchestra at Sydney opera house. His other works in Barcelona are just as spectacular and if nothing else must be observed by all

Who would have thought that romance could be found in Hollands village of excess? Ignoring the infamous red light district with gorgeous women (and ex-men) dancing in front of large windows waiting to be picked, and the coffee shops specializing not in coffee but in all sorts of marijuana, there are other means of elation in Amsterdam. A moonlit cruise along the canals and under little walking bridges, the shallow water lined with dimmed mood softening lights along the quiet streets. While the party districts are a buzz, solace can be found in this bicycle filled town.

Bypassing the touristy spots such as Notre Dame, The Louvre, Arc de Triomph and the Eiffel Tower, all of which Da Vinci’s code describes pretty well, hit the still beautiful although grubby streets of the ghetto and immerse yourself in the cultural shock that is French Hip hop street performances and the artists selling their mixtapes in Paris hoods, as if it were an excerpt straight out of what would be expected from Harlem. Encounter the live and vibrant poetry to rhythm in motion, graffiti, battling and of course tongue tossing lip vibrating and face ballooning sounds of beatboxing.

Stepping into a vehicle of my granddad’s times; old, rackety and without a fuel gauge I introduce The Trabant. There are only a few of these Trabant’s left in existence today, five to specific. Revived by the only tour group licensed to tour the last living stronghold of communism. Poland’s gift from Joseph Stalin, a forgotten city called Nowa Huta stuck in 1949. This town was created in just ten years, and left there, as an independent from the rest of the Poland. A 60-year-old blast from the past staying true to the adage that some things never change, any vintage lover would be in kitsch heaven

Outside Mexico City is the stuff of legends, aliens and like something out of a Paulo Coehlo novel. The awe inducing Aztec Pyramids offer an unparalleled view of Mexican desert landscapes – only after climbing the hundreds of steps for what seems like forever on a clear skied scorching day. Well worth it for quieted mind and clarity of thought you get at the top.

Of all the things that got me thinking, got my imagination flowing and focus back on track, getting from place to place within any city was what inspired me the most. The Metro’s, subways, undergrounds, sky trains and trams in the metropolis really excited me. The speed, the efficacy, the station names, routes, lines and changes. Mostly how the many characters of each city were all in those train cars.

Wherever one would go to retrieve that ever-illusive muse and no matter how we get there, we all have a tale to tell.

In every day life, on every street corner, every moment worth experiencing should be inspiration to explore. Sometimes, it is in these very moments that there are no words but the desire to live, not just the will to survive.

Arty Thursday

Last week Thursday, 15 April, I went to the opening of "100 years of African Art" at the South African National Gallery in Cape Town titled "From Pierneef to Gugulective. Local artists showcasing their talents. The exhibition takes place in the entire gallery, so there is a lot to see.

It was cold - I mention this because I arrived at 6pm hoping to have missed the speeches, but alas, had to grin through them with the Cape Town creeping up my skirt and making me regret the outfit of the day, an outfit that had taken me a little longer than usual to put together. (I couldn't decide which belt to put on)

The beaded belt won the toss.

The artwork was mostly interesting, but after a while it just felt monotonous. One of the few pieces that caught my eye was this one:

pic from Skattie

Ran into one of my favourite artists - Athi, who also has a video showing at the exhibition.

The exhibition runs until September and is a must see. Even though I wasn't moved too much, you might be.