Aomi Muyock by Harley Weir for Pop Magazine S/S 2016
Posted Feb 08, 2016
Aomi Muyock comes home by Harley Weir for Pop Magazine S/S 2016. In the subtle light that exists between dusk & dawn there lives a kind of anti-truth. Uniting us in effort each artist lends themselves to poetic intent. Stylist, Vanessa Reid, reinvents the concept of creative by captivating us with a revival of purpose. The art of couture incites the imagination while daring to disrupt our simple way of being. Bound together by fits of plastic Céline creates high fashion that appears attached to skin. The body is taped/griped together in the most profound way as Aomi ignites a kind of spiritual awakening. Inside the savage markings of my mind lives the fabled makings of a life unlived. Branded in mayhem Nami Yoshida bares out the natural beauty of hope. Gone are the days of coverage, awakened is a sense of self. Committing non-makeup to the page, this story allows us to see what lives beyond being bound. Nude features tell of truth with only tinges of color touching the tips of the cheeks. Stating in effortless mastery this allows the ripened richness of the lips to speak. Tina Outen uses brashness of the hair to make a statement of strength, as stripes of bleach beckons us home. Madness is mimicked freedom is found as (Set Designer) Andy Hillman wraps her in plastic as she reaches out in righteous revelry.
The truth of life can be a suffocating concept as each day awakes with savage comings. Aiming for something higher I reach up only to meet my own trembling hand. With baited breath ~ I wait ~ for an opening, one mere moment that would allow me to make my move. A leap of faith. I would jump into a world where all is new again. A world where nothing has changed in the physical sense, but my mind has melded in the most fantastical way. A world that believes all is still possible, albeit improbable. So, I’m still here. With that same baited breath I reach out to touch my own pathetic piece of air. Without the virtue of vision or the aim of armored faith, I’m stuck here to do what I was made to do. Doing not what I devour rather seeking that which sustains me. In this fettered world of aimless markings I make my way home on a road with no name.