By Lukas Testino – 8 years old

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October 5th, 2012

And where did summer go?

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August 15th, 2012

My summer vanished in a blur of pink sand, hot tropical nights … and the company of good friends. Far, far away from here.

Viral Wow

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August 13th, 2012

I’ve had an insane amount of visitors over the last couple of weeks thanks to this image. And thanks to Pinterest. Insane, I am here to tell you, just insane. Wonder if they all stopped to buy a book, too ;o)

I have also had numerous inquiries about the wall arrangement – how the wall liners are mounted, where are the frames from, who are on the pictures, etc. I am sorry, but I cannot answer each individually. The shelves are inexpensive and from Ikea – painted with several coats of flat/non-glossy white paint for that matte finish. Some of the frames are vintage, and yet others from different galleries collected over the years – some spray painted white. The subjects and framed art also derives from different sources. They are personal pictures, post cards, family snapshots (my great grand father, my son, me), a few vintage images, a friend’s art, a classic (and classy) Audrey Hepburn, Charlie Chaplin, Marlon Brando (you can’t see him from this angle, but he’s there).

Bewildered

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August 11th, 2012

We are trying to find the perfect hideaway for upcoming escape to Paris. Poofy bewildered. Why do we need a getaway when we have a knitted dress?

Whatta ya know?

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August 11th, 2012

Somebody around here is reading my book …

Just one of those days, you know?

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August 10th, 2012

Vanity is my favorite sin

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August 8th, 2012

Pantomime p-book & e-book

“A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.”
-Carlos Ruiz Zafon