Of pastels and prints and poetry.

(Judicium Extremum by Mary V.)

“Do you hear, do you hear that sound?
It’s the sound of the lost gone found
It’s the sound of a mute gone loud
It’s the sound of a new start.”

Press play and skip, turn, twirl, pirouette, clap your hands, along to A Fine Frenzy’s Now Is The Start. Mary V.’s look is a vision of those pastel-colored macarons. The printed tights and the textured cardigan gives it an edge. The almost-barren landscape and the stormy clouds in her background gives contrast to her. There are evidences of softness and coldness in this one.

(All I wanted was to break your walls by Nadja S.)

“Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right—
The leaves upon her falling light—
Thro’ the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot.”

Tennyson’s The Lady of Shalott. More than her lace dress and her flower crown, this lady of darkened eyes and dead paleness is the Lady of Shalott in flesh. Glassy. Frail. Clouded. Echoes. A face that could launch a thousand small, winged elements. (Correct me if I’m mistaken, but I think this is the only sepia-ish, black and white filtered photo in her account.)

Somewhere,
Dyan

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