molly would

luke baker

Fri, 05 Mar 2010 18:00:00 -0500

I first met Luke Baker when I was working for David LaChapelle and at the time, living in his West Hollywood home. As a single girl occupying a three bedroom house, I was subject to entertain the occasional random guest of the studio. Without failure, each visitor posed as an opportunity for a new friendship and at the very least, an interesting number of days to follow.

To this day, Luke refers to me as “Molly Myspace”, a name which although pronounced in the same quirky and posh British accent I can easily recognize as Luke’s, sounds as foreign and distant as the life I once lived in southern California.

Luke was flown to Los Angeles from New York City as a hairstylist for a Sky Vodka shoot we were producing at the studio. This was the first of many visits, most notably his arrival to style the hair for our Elton John music video, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”. (Notice me on the floor in the polaroid above, dazed and lifeless but not without a flawless Isadora bob.) I went on to wear this wig on several other occasions, my favorite being, (at the request of David,) at his gallery opening at the Palazzo Reale Museum during Milan Fashion week in ‘08.

Over flutes of champagne and relaxing in the jacuzzi after several long days of shoots, Luke spoke to me as a mentor and gave advice regarding my future that I still recall and cherish to this day. When I last saw him, he advised me with a similar wisdom regarding the state of the industry as affected by the current economic crisis. He advocated perseverance, endurance, and most importantly, hope, and last night when I saw him for an impromptu hair cut, his current portfolio served to sanction this advice.

His work is featured on several upcoming covers of W Magazine, as well as Pop, and somehow I’m sure this is only the beginning of an incredibly climactic success in 2010.

I arrived at Luke’s apartment last night with a hairstyle so overgrown that I could not even salvage it with my impenetrable go-to: hair gel and a marc jacobs clip. Desperate for his expertise, I sat down before the mirror and as he combed my hair with a large paddle brush, I interrupted his inquiry of what I wanted with an almost abrasively urgent “do whatever you want”. He is an artist, and an extremely talented one at that, and I consult him with only the greatest of confidence and trust. While he worked, I admired his current covers and delighted in his recent stories of success.

I left Luke’s apartment with an overwhelming enthusiasm for his well deserved good fortune, a favorite new hairstyle, and again, a mind full of wisdom from a genuinely wonderful friend.

The only hint he gave me was "sweaty Sadie Hawkins"

Wed, 03 Mar 2010 00:00:00 -0500

It is presumptuous for me to flatter myself so greatly as to refer to Nicholas as my other half.

He is, however, my consummate soul mate, my dearest friend, and my greatest support.

Sequined saddle shoes are the new Ruby Slippers, from the boy who sits in his sixth floor LES walk up weaving collars from mops to The Wizard of Oz and gluing plastic hats to the soundtrack of Sister Act. His work is one in a million and he himself is even rarer of a find…

Soft Spot video featured on S U N D A N C E BLOG!!

Mon, 22 Feb 2010 18:06:00 -0500

http://www.sundancechannel.com/sunfiltered/2010/02/soft-spots-half-a-house/

The Soft Spot video is finally released! Director...

Thu, 11 Feb 2010 21:55:00 -0500

The Soft Spot video is finally released!

Director Cinematographer Editor: Ryan Dickie

Starring Sarah Kinlaw and Bryan Keller.

Art and Costume Direction: Molly Gottschalk

Headpieces by Savannah Wyatt

Props by Amanda Sussman Van Slyke

Clothing donated by Malin Landaeus

Very Special thanks: Katie Zinke

Lets make it viral!

I went sledding today in Central Park, did you?

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 21:12:00 -0500

I felt like a like a kid, as little as I was when I wrote the poem below:

I wish for a blanket to cover my toes

A fluffy white one is what I chose.

When I woke in the morning, to my surprise,

A blanket of snow,

A compromise!

Match your shoes to your bag to your baguette.

Tue, 02 Feb 2010 23:03:00 -0500

Crafted from carbs and the loaves they loathe. Leave it to Nicholas Mendise to dress these society women with garments which, though never passing their lips, alternately have found themselves atop their haughty heads. Sourdough, tuscan, and pumpernickel à la Amy’s Bread, these loaves channel the famine of the great depression and, like peasants once standing in line awaiting rations of bread, wait patiently in queue to be photographed for editorial.

He is a genius, is he not?

MYTHED CONNECTION ART SHOW

Fri, 29 Jan 2010 20:35:00 -0500

Last night I unrolled my prints from the home they have become far too acquainted with, slipping them carefully out of a cardboard tube which, although dusty on the outside, was immaculately pristine beneath the several corrugated layers. With my hands encased in white cotton gallery gloves, I tacked my work to the walls of a Brooklyn basement where I felt both honored to present and genuinely privileged to be among the presence of such talented company. The surrounding images encompassed this small basement with an unapologetic sense of ownership; they spanned every surface of the space, extending, in places, to disperse across the ceiling. As a result, I too became engulfed with this overwhelming, unlimited, and unprecedented artistic energy which I have come to regard with permanence among my peers.

In the morning, I will return to the space to celebrate the success of the show and sip mimosas while also, inevitably, scrubbing the floors. A stroke of the sponge for the footprint of every soul who chose to show their support, and so I must confess, I do hope we are cleaning all day.

Soft.Spot

Fri, 22 Jan 2010 08:44:00 -0500

Today, the arrival of two huge boxes of Soft Spot t-shirts, to the excitement of some but much to my dismay, marks the subsequent and impending departure of my two best friends on their tour of the eastern US.

Who will I drink coffee with in the mornings from our giant French press? The question remains unanswered, the only absolute being it will certainly not be my roommates Sarah and Bryan, who will embark in February on their very first national tour.

Below is the t shirt Bryan designed, crafted from one of his drawings and screen printed on the softest cotton shirts. (BK don’t kill me for posting this! Also- this picture was totally his idea!)

Want one? Go to one of their shows! For tour dates visit www.myspace.com/withlovesoftspot.

Soft Spot- New Bio!! (written by me!)

When given the prompt to illustrate his aspired career with crayons and crepe paper, a kindergarten aged Bryan Keller may just as well have devoted his efforts to drawing the blonde haired beauty three seats away, who was diligently scribing herself as a singer. Surrounded by dreams of firefighters and racecar drivers, homemakers and movie stars, Sarah and Bryan’s destiny was far too articulate to be resolved with gradeschool mediums of craft. Had Bryan been told that in just sixteen years, the little blonde haired Sarah Kinlaw would become his soul mate and band mate, touring the country and performing the incarnate of their combined talents and mutual affection, would he have believed his incredible fortune, and more importantly, could he draw that with crayons?

Although romantically the two progressed from puppy love to teen love to their present adoration of true love, musically their collaborations had a much later arrival. Bryan spent his adolescence grooming his skills as a guitar player, bassist and drummer, while separately, Sarah studied classical opera and lyric soprano from behind tightly sealed and sound proof doors. Though Sarah consistently occupied the front row of the audience at any of Bryan’s shows, she maintained her status as a spectator who, regardless of her aspirations and musings, was never a participant and always a voyeur. It was not until the formative year of 2009 that Sarah was able to develop the courage to share her music with others. She emerged to the public with heartfelt and handwritten songs, easily recognized through their use of the ukulele but often incorporating other elements such as the accordion, keys, melodica, and perhaps the greatest addition of all, her long time best friend and boyfriend Bryan Keller.

Soft Spot was born as the lovechild of two passionate artists, emerging to the public with an insatiable desire for omnipresence. From local venues to radio waves, and now in preparation for an upcoming national tour in late February, Soft Spot is the song you cannot get out of your head, the subtle scent that lingers on your pillow, and the girl in the classroom three seats ahead who, try as it may, can never be rivaled for attention with arithmetic.

Prior to their approaching February tour dates, Bryan and Sarah will release their debut EP, complemented in conjunction with the premier of their very first music video for the song Half a House. Their route will cover the entire Eastern United States, with notable stops such as their hometown of Wilmington, North Carolina and even pausing to spend a night in a commune of tree houses in southern Georgia. They will be accompanied by their live percussionist and dear friend Jarrod Drobot for this eastern tour, (which although already scheduled, is still open to inquiries for additional stops).

Soft Spot is music to dance to and music to sit to, music to wake to and music to make love to. For as childhood ambitions once scribbled in crayon and existing only in daydreams, this product of two passionate hearts can only have the sweetest of fruits.

One day when we are grown-ups

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 23:22:00 -0500

First:

Go to Soft Spot on Myspace and listen to the song Half a House!

The two faces above, though one smiles at the camera while the other cheats a slumber, are the very same faces that once stood side by side and mused of adulthood in a bathroom mirror. I applied her lipstick and braided her hair and she sang along to Jewel’s Pieces of Me with a sound far surpassing an adolescent’s mimicry.

We were twelve. We made grandiose wishes and aspirations for our future and whispered them in each others ears with the scarcity of a birthday wish that would vanish if uttered aloud. We believed we could do anything. We counted the days to the moments to the seconds until we would be all grown up and could fast forward to the truly magical parts of our lives.

Sarah the singer and Molly the artist. Eleven years later and we are still side by side, though this time the rouge I apply wasn’t stolen from my mother. This time we are in Montauk, in the wardrobe room of her first music video, and later, while dressing the set, I cannot help but absorb the whimsy of the scene. Stacking mattresses one by one, I build a bed for Sarah to rest upon like the Princess and the Pea and realize that our once distant fairy tale will surely exceed the duration of the shot.

Please grant me the patience to wait for the first edit of this video. I will be sure to post it immediately! Until then, this is the most I can do without spoiling all of the amazing surprises! We have waited our whole lives for this. I think you can make it a few more weeks!

Above, wearing a headpiece made especially for this shoot by the lovely and talented Savannah Wyatt and resting on layer after layer of vintage quilts supplied by Amanda of Really Roseberry Vintage! (as well as the majority of antique props used to dress the set!)

Sarah with her paternal grandmother’s vintage tea set, wearing clothing from Malin Landaeus Vintage Archive.

We decided that you cannot go to Montauk without fulfilling the quintessential romantic-escapade-on-a-bed-of-ice experience. I’ve also added to the list: venturing to the beach at night and brainstorming shots while gazing at the stars.

Below, the amazingly talented and wonderful director and my very dear friend Ryan Dickie, shown on set with a misses Sarah and a mister Bryan. So much love for these three. So much excitement for this project.

And so, so much to unpack.

xoxo

N O V A L A N D A E U S

Sun, 10 Jan 2010 10:54:18 -0500

Nova Landaeus returns integrity to the lost art of modeling, discreetly slipping it back into place as if it were never absent to begin with.

She filled this eighth floor loft in Astoria with a presence that rivaled the afternoon sun, lighting up the room and creating an ambience so luminous, it would be shameful not to document its beauty.

I found myself infected by her energy, as well as that of the others on set, correlating her ability to inspire her surroundings with the sequins on the very tip of her hat. Teaming with light and shadows, these embellishments make reflections which dance around the room and touch all with a spell of magic and whimsy.

With the grace and careful movements undeniably and inimitably accredited to a lifelong study of classical ballet, Nova gives dresses, once lifeless on metal hangers, the absolute dance of a lifetime.

She contorts herself with a seemingly innate agility, holding poses so statuesque that it is actually startling when she becomes animate again. Her repertoire of movements is commendable, and the fact that she smiles showing all of her teeth is as refreshing and lighthearted as it is foreign on an editorial set.

I am not surprised to find she is an aspiring actress, and can speak on behalf of her acting school that her educational endeavors are clearly well spent.

(for more about Nova please proceed with the following link: Nova Landaues)

Today, Nova modeled a collection of Michael Calloway, a local designer partial to hand sewn and one of a kind creations. Comprised of both new and vintage garments, his designs are sold exclusively in Nova’s mother’s Williamsburg boutique Malin Landaeus Vintage, where he holds the noteworthy title as their only contemporary designer.

Her red lips and platinum pin curls were provided by the talents of the wonderful Johnny Ducoin, and together with an extremely talented photographer and my best efforts styling, I feel we were able to reach an outcome nothing short of spectacular.

Thank you to all for this wonderful shoot. I cannot wait to update with more pictures!

Did you see these shoes??? Would you like a closer look?

Also, my Nick Cave photos made it in LA Weekly!!!

Sat, 09 Jan 2010 08:11:59 -0500

http://blogs.laweekly.com/westcoastsound/nick-cave-at-the-folwer/

I entered a self portrait contest (obviously)

Sat, 09 Jan 2010 08:09:38 -0500

The following link will take you to the portfolio I submitted,

http://www.artistswanted.org/mollygottschalk

and if you vote for my pictures will help my chances!

I am heading out the door to drive to a photo shoot in Astoria. I will update tomorrow with pictures!

Lots of really exciting projects on the horizon. Sorry for the slow updates lately but I assure you this is only the calm before the storm.

My new friend January

Sun, 03 Jan 2010 16:50:00 -0500

On New Years day, I awoke in my bed in my baby blue Rodarte dress, carefully chosen to ring in the new year and now longing for its previous and more stable home on a lonely wooden hanger. After noticing the absence of one five hundred dollar shoe, I felt immediate panic followed by a tickled association between myself and Cinderella. This self appreciation, however, I dismissed rather quickly upon my first glimpse in my mirror. My Grace Kelly curls now resembled more of an Ethel Mertz coif, and I realized, like Cinderella, after the stroke of midnight New Years Eve presents nothing more than a slow and steady demise.

Rest assured, I am not referring to excessive drinking. Sure, I honored the festivities and and befriended a crystal flute of bubbles. I looked into the eyes of all my dearest and toasted the new year with genuine optimism. The debauchery, however, I left to the usual suspects, and returned home somewhat soberly and undeniably somberly with the sun at my back and threatening to rise.

I lay wide awake in my bed overwhelmed by the gravity of the once approaching, now fully present, daunting New Year.

Why such a dismal outlook to the turn of the New Year? On the first, I come face to face with my greatest foe. Immediately following the highlight of my calendar, January is an unwelcomed and aggressively punctual occurrence to succeed a month of merry entertainment and pleasant reinforcement of relationships.

A green and fragrant Evergreen challenges its namesake and finds a home on a curb; brown and brittle, it impatiently awaits a dump truck kept company by puddles which, erect, once answered to ”Frosty”. All that is left of these snowmen now are pools of sleet, housing irrelevant and soiled items such as a scarf, buttons, corn cobs, and of course, a single carrot which in its prime was a nose, but today is a reminder of the fleeting nature of holiday content.

We are given one day to accommodate this transition. We are given one night to mourn the loss of the year and welcome the next. Nostalgia for what is left behind rivals excitement for all that lies ahead, and the focus falls on an assessment of what we have, what we don’t, and what we desperately need to obtain beginning on January first.

On New Years Eve I crumble at the mercy of the persistent hands of a clock. Any effort to prolong the stroke of midnight are made in vain, as the seconds arrive in unwavering and mathematical succession and the impending doom of the a new calendar year looms in a daunting queue in the rafters.

This year, I resolve to embrace my enemy. I will transform my dislike to an affection so strong that I must stay up all night on the thirty first, desperate to absorb every last moment of the once hated, though clearly only misunderstood, month of January.

I now have moss green German leather gloves with gold grommets that warm my hands sometimes even after I have gone indoors. Similarly, I have learned that hats are not just a novelty and instead a necessity! If worn on a cold day, believe it or not, they do much more than accessorize the last ten percent of a once incomplete outfit. My cozy queen size bed is adorned with an electric blanket, consistently warmed to level nine, and just at the foot rests hand sewn mohair bunny slippers compliments of my mother. My cabinets are stocked with chai and chamomile tea and hot cocoa, my drawers with heavy wool socks, and my calendar filled with cozy dinner parties where I will sip hot cider with friends and watch the snow fall through hand-smeared windows in a foggy pane of glass.

It is this outlook that will transform this month for me. For New Years I resolve to have the best January I possibly can. Therefore, on the first day of the year, I ignored my lethargy and leaped from my bed to cook black eyed peas and collard greens and treat my best friends to a special dinner and good luck for the entire year. It is this same luck that I wish for myself as I anticipate the forthcoming where, using this day as an example, I take whatever I am given and even if it is not immediately desirable, transform any hand into the perfect play.

I believe in a reciprocated exchange of energy, and I believe that ultimately you are given what you put out into the world. Take note, 2010: this year, I am expecting some really magical gifts.

they tell us "happily ever after" at the end of every story, because if they told us anything else, we'd never ever read another.

Sun, 27 Dec 2009 07:22:00 -0500

This year, I spent a long time reflecting on Christmas holidays of my childhood. It seems as though in the past, the celebration was more all-encompassing. I sat in my living room and gazed at a beautifully decorated evergreen tree and realized, at four years old, our freshly cut fir was relatively five times my height. The glass of eggnog poured by my mother filled a mug so large, I could barely grasp it within my meager grip and and when eagerly sipping this sweet novelty, it successfully covered my entire face. We toasted marshmallows in our home fireplace and I timidly offered a long, thin stick as a barrier between myself and my carefully secured treat, which was lapped by the flames of a fire twice my size.

I tried to picture a room, scaled to accommodate my adult proportions, filled with beautifully wrapped boxes that were large enough to stand in, trees tall enough to play beneath the boughs, and unlimited challenges presented in obstacles around every corner. Massive cookies in jars just higher than reach are decorated with festive icing and sprinkles and present the omnipresent incentive to build stairs to the countertop. The prize, I should note, by equal scale today, would be a cookie the size of a dinner plate.

Whispered rumors of Santa Clause and his flying reindeer kept me awake during this winter month, but in retrospect I have trouble understanding how I was able to sleep for the remaining eleven. The entire world poses as a playground to a child, because in addition to toys and fantasy and make-believe, every day objects are simply so large in comparison that it is hard to not acknowledge this real life fun house.

I do my best to carry the whimsy of a child in my every day life. It would be a shame to overlook this forgotten magic, or to abandon the belief that all the world was made for our entertainment. The trick to adulthood is to maintain this optimism when the conditions are not as ideal. When restaurants do not offer, in addition to a meal, a small prize and perhaps a jungle gym or slide to climb while waiting for the food.

There are special secrets for adults, too. It is an every day scavenge to find them, and the treasure is perhaps even more fulfilling on account of the arousing and challenging pursuit.

See you soon, NYC!

Three pictures may seem excessive,

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 12:33:25 -0500

But I am really proud of this broad……

Last day in NYC till twenty ten.

Homeward bound and in the highest spirits!

Christmas wish

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 09:15:28 -0500

One day when it is the future

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 09:00:08 -0500

With the help of Hanna Barbera and Aldous Huxley, creators of The Jetsons and A Brave New World, respectively, ideals of the future are manufactured and instilled in our minds and loom in impending doom, as always, just around the corner. Permanently affixed as mere premonitions, these concepts are too enveloped in their placement as “the future” to be recognized by society as they approach our lives and appear in our surroundings with increasing omnipresence. Barbera and Huxley may have been incredible story tellers, however more notably should be viewed in their role as shamans of the future. They envisioned a world and painted it for us in 24-bit color and equally variegated literature. They taught us to anticipate a space age filled with highly advanced technological gadgets, populated by a pharmaceutically complacent and sedated humanity.

While speculating over these predictions, I use the universal digital library of information popularly known as Google to research such concepts further. Upon viewing the results for the search terms “The Jetsons,” I find myself in the dull and seemingly prehistoric present day, fantasizing about robotic devices and clever technological inventions. I set my laptop computer aside when interrupted by a call on my iPhone, but return at once upon completion of my conversation with a friend in California, ignorant of the irony in my eagerness to continue researching “the future”.

When I read A Brave New World, I imagined an existence as far from the present as it is from reality. Not dissimilar to the books I read about the future and programs I watched supporting its allure, I was entirely void of cognizance in a world which simultaneously fulfilled its prophecies.

My dismal mood is accredited to these revelations. Aside from the fact that in many ways, modern technology has highly surpassed such predictions of the future, I am more so affected by my contemplation of the Soma pill used to sedate and resolve discontentment.

Modern medicine has managed to scratch the branded s-o-m-a from the infamous pills and restructure both their appearance and appeal. They are successfully camouflaged and hide in their masquerade behind mirrors of medicine cabinets, nestled in the pockets of troubled teens, or beneath the bottomless drawers of their equally plagued predecessors. No, I am not against pharmaceutical drugs or psychosomatic medicines. I am, however, highly against their abuse.

We can determine the termination of our involvement with The Jetsons by a simple touch of a button, or evade this Brave New World through the closing of a book. We think nothing more of these fantastic ideas in our daily lives when taking pills to slightly soften the reality of the day, or alternatively, to avoid it altogether.

I have lost my two greatest friends to abuse of prescription pharmaceutical pills. Science has progressed from fiction to fact and it is with this realization that I anxiously await the sequel to these foreboding and consummate predictions.

We have created a society we cannot endure with sobriety. I am left to wonder how all of this might one day be reversed. If only there were some sort of pill …

Cut from the same cloth

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 08:00:00 -0500

Sharing separate articles of a two-piece ensemble, I pose with a best friend on the eve of her departure for an engagement and new life with fiance in Argentina. She wears her favorite platforms, I wear her patchwork Pradas, and we celebrate a momentous, if temporary, visit among friends. With increasing progression, I watch as my closest disperse across the globe. It seems the farther they go and the further they evolve, the harder (and for this exception I permit such a colloquial expression), it tugs at my heartstrings.

I feel a paper map is in order, one that I’ll adorn with stars as new places transform from anonymous bullets to tender homes. I’ll seek comfort in this constellation and delight in the formation of patterns, no matter how dispersed, we will collectively form across a sprawling and infinite sky.

Congratulations Miss, soon to be Mrs, Hayden Lewis!

Ready?

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 00:00:00 -0500

My friend Phil exhibited his artwork tonight at the Andrew Edlin Gallery, and never before have I been so happy to arrive at such a crowded venue. As a result of an alarmingly enormous turnout, the gallery was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with a line out the door and a body heat induced temperature fogging the icy windows.

It was the coldest day yet in New York City, and as no shock to any that know me, I was inappropriately clothed in a third of the required and sensible amount of attire.

I have been forgoing coats for the sake of an outfit for as long as I can remember. In the sixth grade, I actually had a principal call my mother to offer her charitable donation of a warm jacket. This call was received much to my mother’s embarrassment, as my closet was filled with countless adequate and untouched forms of armor for the cold.

Tonight was no exception, however no matter the chill to my bare legs, at least I was able to incorporate a matching hat….

New York Winter, I approach you with open arms, bare legs, and an invitation for a true challenge.

purr on, little pussycat

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 00:30:00 -0500

Last night I satiated all twenty of my sweet-teeth at a candy cane cocktail party.

I encountered a kitten who tenderly purred and nuzzled against my legs, and while sipping on a drink with a peppermint twist, found myself contemplating this cat’s behavior when matched with an unyielding gaze toward my candy.

A random act of genuine kindness hangs in a museum of urban myths; sometimes spotted, always debated, and rarely decided void of ulterior motive.

I was told today that the purring of a cat has been inaccurately read as a symbol of content. Contrary to the understanding that this rhythmic hum is an audible display of affection, rather it was argued that masquerading as a gentle purr is instead an unabashed plea for attention.

What undaunted criticism! What a presumptuous and shameless claim to accuse of a harmless and defenseless species!

Insincere affection as a plea for attention? Flattering manipulation as a ploy for personal gain? Why do these methods sound uncomfortably familiar and, frankly, hopelessly human?

Perhaps we are not as far or elevated from our feline counterparts as we would wish to believe.

Why do we insist on a charade of such deceit, and when did we decide to eschew straight forward communication? Today, it seems that straight forward demands equate to the shrill whining of a hungry and homeless stray. Perhaps of a tabby that doesn’t quite understand how purrs and affection yield greater results than nagging and direct demands. Eventually, the purring cat will easily be awarded warm milk.

I recall batting my lashes and quivering my bottom lip in exchange for time out invincibility. Precautionary breakfast in bed the morning of report cards, and a heightened attention to chores the month before Christmas. Groomed and developed in our upbringing, human beings are just as manipulative and equally as stealth in our endeavors, our only fault being our inability to play quite as coy as a kitten.

Women know how to use charm to get what they want, and as a result, suspect a similar foul agenda when receiving significant or over-eager flattery.

If someone is nice to you, do you automatically assume that they want something? I propose it be accepted as a fair trade. If you are going to beg and make demands, you might as well offer a complimentary incentive.

Purr like a kitten and they will be eating right out of your hand.