When I first saw the handbag, I froze. I really did. My mind started to race. The longer I looked, the more I wanted. I couldn't stop staring at the nearly over-simplified, ethereal images needled into the leather. The casual curves felt so mindful and measured and precise. It felt innocent. Erotic. Organic. I felt innocent. Erotic. Organic.
I sat there, like a fashion-whore, mesmerized by the inside sleeve of an over-priced beauty magazine; in seemingly desperate want of that Prada handbag. I kept at the magazine for ages. I anchored the images into my mind's eye so that I could beckon them at will. I wanted to wallpaper everything with how I felt when I looked at that handbag. I was enchanted.
Days passed (ok, weeks passed) before it hit me. Maybe I was a little too drunk on the images to realize it, perhaps I was caught up in the romance of Prada in the Spring - I'm not certain - but I do know this: I never really did want that handbag. Slowly, but surely, the unremarkable lines of the bag materialized. Eventually, the handbag slipped from my mind's eye altogether and I was left, sitting by myself, basking in the ink of James Jean.
Thank you, Prada.
http://www.jamesjean.com
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2 comments:
That bag was pretty impressive at first sight ... but this dude's work is amazing! How'd you discover him?
Hey Olivia :-)....I discovered him while trying to locate that handbag on-line...I just love his drawings...I knew that you'd notice his sketch books:-) Thanks for visiting my blog! *laughter*
Pudsy
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