Saturday, June 5, 2010

Dear Ma (Dress 115)

Dear Mum,
I've always taken your art for granted. Growing up amongst beautiful things and amazing creative people. How lucky was I? Thanks.
A couple of years back you did an exhibition in Queensland where you made engraved ice columns (three) at intervals of two or so hours, so that there was always a highly detailed column, a column that had melted a fair bit and had little or no detail, and a column that had melted down until it was beginning to fall off the pole that held each doughnut-shaped 'brick' together. The columns melted into a giant glass boat, which in turn filled until two holes near the top of the boat, from whence water spilled into two bowls on the floor, each filled with various spices.
The spices just looked so stunning, and since my great-aunt sent us spices from Israel our kitchen smells heavenly, no wonder I can't get it off my mind!
Jersey T-shirt with soft printed spices.
All my love,

Dear Ilana (Dress 114)

Dearest Ilana,
You're lovely. I mean it- really truly lovely. You wrote me a sweet letter a fair while back that made my day when I needed it most- not just with the sweetness of the sentiment but the presentation too! Calligraphy monogram and your insanely pretty handwriting-all your style is like that- strong lines and intense contrasts. Yesterday after our class performance you were getting dressed for a party, and you were wearing this stunning satin backless creation that looked just amazing... so in honour of backlessness and the prettiness that is 1950s contrast:
(White satin, black calligraphyesque 'pool' lines, and  half-strawberry (with cream) brooch.)
All my love,

Dear Kishkoosh (Dress 113)

Dearest Kishkoosh,
You were my mum's pet really, she absolutely adored you- clever and beautiful, and a lovely creature. I was so young that I was frightened of you- you were this big bird with a powerful beak and you didn't like me because I moved so quickly that I frightened you. Silliness. I realised how much a part of our family you were when the next-door-neighbours' dog killed you. I remember when my dad came to school to tell me- still shaking- he held you while you passed and buried you himself.
When Annie (my ex-drama teacher, and family friend) brought Charlie to us I felt like it was a chance to start fresh- but that didn't work out, because he hated men and kept trying to bite my Father.
I still think maybe one day I'll get my mum another Cockatoo- I know she misses you.
(Inked linen with a satin lining to structure it.)
All my love,