My mind is existing out of my time today.

As I played a slight game of flirting chase the girl told me she had to leave at 1pm to go perform in the Olympics, it was 1:23pm. An hour ahead for what she was thinking. She assured me that she was not trying to steal information from me, but I assured her that I knew she had already stolen my information and I didn’t really care.

Later I was packing for France. While climbing about on a compactable bunk bed I was practicing my French like the verb descendre. When I made it down to the floor as the bunk bed fell apart the ‘mother figure’ was packing her accordion. It had its own seafoam green case that reached up to about my waist. Quite the large accordion. We compared accordions and I told her of my plan of having mine as my carry on. The room was all seafoam green and white with an overly strong feel of a British nursery, à la Mary Poppins.

Amongst all this I was trying to find my drawings of grotesque arm, hand, and eye beasts on black and white tile. Made from quick movements of the mind and not planned out, but later made detailed. Old Sega Genesis style concept art.

All this was fueled by an afternoon nap after eating some nice French cheese with sunflower basil crackers, drinking some vin de Cahors, and watching a few of the first episodes of TOS on a beautifully grey day.

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New Birth.

Hey. C'est moi. It has been a few years. Since I last discussed into the void here I attended grad school for architecture at the University of Washington, finished the Master's program by the skin of my teeth, graduated into a global pandemic (I would not recommend this), gave away most of my worldly possessions, and am now flâneur-ing around Europe on the slim budget of my life savings. Allow me to reintroduce myself : I am the artist, Gaston. My interests include ; architecture, sustainability, art, vintage fashions, antiques, and flâneries. All while consuming massive quantities of tea. “I know where I'm from, but I don't know where I'm going.” I recently heard this line at a video playing at the Tate Museum in Liverpool, and it rang strong in me. In the film Casablanca, when Rick is questioned on his nationality he responds that his is a “drunkard,” insinuating that he has renounced his American nationality for that of someone who owns and runs a bar. From ...

French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

The Toulousian Painting.

I sneak in a mirror reflected reference photo. While we were in Toulouse we ducked into a nice little salon de thé that to me felt like something out of a 1940s representation of Europeans in Africa. Probably just the French dealing with the heat of the south. While at this place I noticed a girl sitting alone at one of the tables reading on her phone. Perhaps surfing the internet, perhaps reading a book, I couldn't quite tell as it was in Asian characters. I would guess that it was either Chinese or Japanese. In such a beautifully intriguing place I found it to be somewhat odd that she would pass the time ignoring her surrounding to immerse herself in her phone. I remember they also had nice restrooms. The girl then left and we stayed a bit longer sipping on our drinks, which if I remember right were not actually tea but something cool to counter the heat of Toulouse. Taking a breather in the hectic nature of our vacation. It was one of those towns where I ...

High Contrast Grey.

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