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    <title>Doll Imago</title>
    <link>http://virb.com/dollimago</link>
    <description><![CDATA[Doll Imago is comprised of one roque artist dedicated to creating a unique atmosphere through digital soundscapes and melodic exploration. Inspired by her studies of classical composers, particularly the music of Chopin, Kabalevsky and Debussy, she has paved a way to decipher her own interior stirrings to compose. Currently her calling to classical music has lead her to study the music of Phillip Glass, Arvo Part and Michael Nyman. This has in turn opened the doors to the music of a pop/ambient/ethereal learning including Harold Budd, Brian Eno and early 4AD bands like the Cocteau Twins where the ethos of the music of these composers can already be heard in her original music. Although her composing style blossomed years before hearing these artists it is testimony to the fact that "it is in the air"-individuals with similar aims, in the case of beauty and simplicity will arrive at similar results. Doll Imago uses drone to promote stillness, uses repetition to stabilize the attention and variation of melody to create drama, narrative and reflection. It does not pummel you with beats, catchiness and attitude but instead intimates it's purpose and furtively rewards the listener who is attuned to the subtlety of it's language; a language that pushes to and fro from wistful speculation to the point of discovery, an answer to the question that is sometimes discordant and earthbound and sometimes graceful and otherworldly. It seems the kind of music that can only come from a contemplative essence that is grounded in the world of the present while being steeped in the tradtions of the past. It is an intimate soundtrack to private moments, providing empathy to the solitary part of the individual.
This description of her early work remains to be true, however Doll Imago has since evolved her musical world to include the use of beats, spoken word and samples.  She is currently going through a second stage of her development as a composer and will hopefully see it in turn blossom once again.
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      <title>obsentitiesbrutalities2</title>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:33:21 -0700</pubDate>
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      <title>pabstline2</title>
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      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:31:24 -0700</pubDate>
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      <title>snake</title>
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      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 13:38:31 -0700</pubDate>
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      <title>hoodedlady</title>
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      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 13:37:34 -0700</pubDate>
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      <title>Photo 206</title>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:27:49 -0700</pubDate>
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      <title>Photo 145</title>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:27:46 -0700</pubDate>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:27:42 -0700</pubDate>
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      <pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 14:27:39 -0700</pubDate>
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      <title>the flexibility of love....</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/dollimago/posts/text/767625</link>
      <description><![CDATA[the flexibility of love

stress of 
change
and holding on

forgetting
the process

here all the time

simplicity of thought
it all becomes
a game
and I hate that word
especially
in this
context

finding a center
and the worst of it
is the fear

control

what is so bad
about being
alone?

the dream
of someone
loving
you through 
it all

eventhough.....


c. 2007 Doll Imago]]></description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 12 Aug 2008 13:23:27 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/dollimago/posts/text/767625</guid>
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      <title>Aanis Nin's "A Spy in the House of Love"</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/dollimago/posts/text/594148</link>
      <description><![CDATA["The ascension of the ballet dancers into space and their return to the ground, brought before her eyes a Japanese umbrella made of colored paper which she once wore in her hair.  It was lovely to see, so delicately made.  When it rained and others opened their umbrellas then it was time for her to close hers.  
But a high wind torn it, and when she went into Chinatown to buy another the woman who ran the shop shouted violently: "It's made in Japan, throw it in the gutter!"  Sabina had looked at the parasol, innocent and fragile, made in a moment of peace by a workman dreaming of peace, make like a flower, lighter that war and hatred.  She left the shop and looked down at the gutter and could not bring herself to throw it.  She folded it quietly, folded tender gardens, the fragile structure of dream, a workman's dream of peace, innocent music, innocent workman whose hands had not made bullets.  In time of war, hatred confused all the values, hatred fell upon the cathedrals, paintings, music, rare books, children and innocent passerbyy.
She folded the letter, as she had folded the parasol, out of sight of hatred and violence.  She could not keep pace with the angry pulse of the world. She was engaged in a smaller cycle, the one opposite of war.  There were truths women had been given to protect while the men went to war.  When everything would be blown away, a paper parasol would raise its head among the debris, and man would be reminded of peace and tenderness."]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 30 Apr 2008 11:45:14 -0700</pubDate>
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