Ceci's Bedroom

Cecilia Sebastián de Erice, 
or Ceci [ch-eh-ch-ē] for short, is my Spanish cousin. Born and raised in Madrid proper.


Not only is Ceci my cousin, but she’s also an Artist. 

This Chiquita grew up learning three different languages—English, Italian, & French—while already speaking fluent Spanish. LYKE, fur real; one can only go crazy with such lingual knowledge.

Now, picture this, she grew up in the city-center of Madrid, basically two feet away from one of the most influential monuments in Spain, she’s the oldest of three, she’s got the swag of an Española Gangster Queen, and she can sprint faster than anyone in the family. She enjoys reading Marvel Comics, gaming on her Nintendo DS— just like me and Chi ;) – & above all she loves exploring her conscience through very particular and creative artistic mediums. For example, during her first year of art school at Manchester Metropolitan University Ceci painted an entire canvas using anything, but paint—she used food & makeup! Ceci gathered different food samples, blushes, lipsticks, eye shadows, and all the above to create unique color pigments for her palette. Not only that, she also made DIY paintbrushes using feathers and other extraneous materials to use while painting the canvas.


When I visited Madrid this past week, I lived out of Cecilia’s bedroom and it got me thinking about how an artist’s bedroom is a reflection of the artist’s mind, both in its function and in its effect. What I mean to say is Cecilia’s bedroom is a physical manifestation of her mind as an artist. Imagine Ceci’s brain jumping out of her skull and projectile vomiting its “artistic-mental-map” all over her bedroom. The only way to truly explain this phenomenon is through a photo montage of her bedroom, followed by a montage of her artwork. Observe,
Cecilia's bedroom...

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And now, Cecilia's artwork. 

Brusho ink on Habotai silk.
Mixed media.
 Mixed media.
 Brush ink in water.
 Brusho ink and bleach on canvas.


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T.Y.T.B. gals

T.Y.T.B. UPDATE: A new column to come with The Man’s perspective on The Braless. 


Decide Your Decade

I feel like it's important to know your decade.
Know your decade, people. 
By that that I mean know your decade of style. It truly helps when you're having a slumpy day and you're all like, "Wait... what do I wear? Like, whaaa? Wahhhhhh." 'Cause, honestly, that's how I normally do.

I personally know that:
  • when I'm sophisticated-feeling, I'm in the 60s,
  • when I'm trying to look classy, I'm in the 20s,
  • when I'm all like, "bitches (male, female, fe-man, and n/a) be bothering me," I'm in the late 80s, early 90s,
  • when I'm feeling cute but saucy, (chya,) I'm in the 90s (cause that was when baby chi and man baby gi were born), and finally
  • when I'm trying to go to a concert, or rave, or whatever a fun time is called these days, and I'm gone be all sweaty and sh*t, I'm in the 00s and beyond. (Nay, not before-time or the medieval era, more like the now and the future, zduh). 
Anywho, try and pick a decade sometime. This way when you're all flustered the morning before you start your fancy job (or, non-fancy job-- like mine-- where I thrive in warehouse-modern-grunge-80s-wear) (or, no job at all, like Gi, which gives her much more freedom when fashioning her self-image on the daily) you can have an easier time being on auto-pilot and cruising through your clothes to take on the inspiring decade of your choosing. 

To give you some insight I pursued the LIFE Magazine photo archives that we all (should) know and love ;) I only sifted through the 20s-80s, but I tried to take pictures that were both fashionably inspiring, as well as politically/socially inspiring:








(my dad and I in the 90s....i had to do it)

Peace 'n blessings.