stitches, notes & obscurity

The phenomenally batted works of stellarquilts have left me lustful and electrified. I've never seen anything like them and I'm strangely envious and covetous all at once - damn my lack of vision and talent once again...Seriously, I'm so in love with this piece! Quilting, in particular, has always semi-drawn me. I'm more familiar with the fine Indian art of Kantha and the gorgeously pieced together vestiges of vibrant saris. Being a novice in the sea of true textile arts, I think the only other contemporary pieces that have struck me are Leah Evans' legendary 'Map Quilts' and Heptic Lab's joined conceptions, which are incredible on every scale as well. . .Aside from a broad sense of textile worship on a more habitual scale, that's my exposure. I have a soft spot for tattered remnants; haphazard, forgotten ends of random worn cloth sutured together, creating something that tells a story and holds memories and scents...something texturally telling of conception and occupation. The warmth of inheritance. I'm not from quilting stock, and the conventional, 'Americana' styles do nothing but utterly bore me to tears...But this - coupling my avid fascinations with astronomy and my decorative appetite for the generally unfamiliar...is something like bliss. A torch to be passed down...an investment piece to be cherished long into it's threadbare hours.

Enough, Etsy sycophant.


"As perfume doth remain in the folds where it hath lain, so the thought of you, remaining deeply folded in my brain, will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain." - Arthur Symons
In the Library. Walking in the Air. Memory of Kindness. Mr. Hulot's Holiday. ..

All uncommon scents by Brooklyn perfumer, Christopher Brosius @ CB I Hate Perfume. Please do peruse his shop and delight in all things chemically stimulating. I'm torn between 'AmBrosious' & 'Russian Caravan Tea'.


I do not hate perfume. Jessica is a self-professed, essence-obsessed fragrance aficionado. I stick with warm, dark flavors & spices - hinting at sweetness and redolent of something dirty-animalic in the wake. I am in love with perfume.


Here are some more potions keeping my olfactory senses writhing in ecstasy...

Le Labo Fragrances' 'vanille 44' & 'neroli 36'


Diptyque's 'Philosykos'
and my personal holy grail of sensuality (aside form my husband), Maurice Roucel's aromatic manifesto, 'Musc Ravageur'...the essence of Şeytan Tüyü.


antiquity:



I've got an old copy of Edward S. Curtis' 'Native Americans' laying about in our spare bedroom, and after quite some time reacquainting myself with it's many stunning and haunting images, I became enthralled with notions of transformation & subjectivity...I was also overcome with quiet sadness for a man who invested so much of his life in preserving the complete magnificence of the established cultures in America. He was initially commissioned for the project (20 volumes with 1,500 photographs) through JP Morgan who offered $75,000 & 25 sets + 500 prints of his own work...222 complete sets were eventually published.

He wrote in the introduction to his first volume in 1907: "The information that is to be gathered ... respecting the mode of life of one of the great races of mankind, must be collected at once or the opportunity will be lost."

As an average American, I was loosely schooled in the wounded legacy of this country's indigenous peoples. As teenager, I took a bit of a personal interest in our culture's history and politics. It's a dangerous pastime for me, filled with bitterness and disbelief. Depression. I admittedly have a difficult time being patriotic, but on a broader scale...it comes down to humanity as a whole. So I read, a lot. It strikes notions of terror, the elapse of entire hordes of people and beliefs...wisdom buried beneath progress and avarice. So I stop reading. In my mind, stubborn and spoiled as it is...my home is nothing more than what I've let it be and I don't want see what it is. What it was. Until I do.


Curtis made over 10,000 wax cylinder recordings of Indian language and music. He took over 40,000 photographic images from over 80 tribes. He recorded tribal lore and history, and he described traditional foods, housing, garments, recreation, ceremonies, and funeral customs. He wrote biographical sketches of tribal leaders, and his material, in most cases, is the only recorded history. He paid tribes to undertake ceremonies out of season and reestablish ceremonies no longer practiced. He brought with him props, wigs, shirts, and other accouterments to “reenact” scenes, and was careful to remove “modern” items already adopted by tribes from the frame before shooting. His interest was in the “traditional” Indian, regardless of whether those traditions had already evolved away from the preconceptions of white america. He became consumed with his work. His marriage fell apart and he remained largely estranged from his children. He died penniless...watching the various cultures he had so devotedly observe and catalog vanish.