I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty." -Pablo Neruda
she finds herself somewhere between Lolita and Madame Bovary...she is more a scent than an image: airy, empyreal. Like perfumes she contains the sublime, of course, but also the fecal. She sublimates the abject while drawing you to ideals. Vulnerable and ethereal, together with formidable and sadistic she has difficult moments where she feels misunderstood. She always seeks the truth as there are always contradictions around her...she is a scarlet lip-gloss suspect in the middle of global Puritanism...and surely angels with stringed instruments do follow. She sometimes wanders deep into the forest and into the sea. She is a translucent blue-green with firey red-orange tips that extend high towards the heavens. She is always late for the sky. She clothes herself in opal, emerald ,ruby and onyx dresses and pairs everything with her weathered english riding boots. She is all at once the femme fatale and the victim, the prey and preying mantis, the virgin and the whore. She is haunted by melodies that linger in her head from a different time and her class is a riddle. She changes her mind like the wind but she is always as constant as the Twelfth Night. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Estrella is a clothing salon...I wanted to create a kind of shopping expierence where various creators from various fields gather together and encounter each other in an ongoing atmosphere of beautiful chaos: the mixing up and coming together of beautiful kindred souls who all share ONE strong personal vision of beauty.* * * * * ~~~~~~~~~~~And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty." Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us." And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us." The tired and the weary say, "beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow." But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains, And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions." At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east." And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset." In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills." And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair." All these things have you said of beauty. Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted. It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. Beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
