The Ornamented Being

floket:

ornamentedbeing:

Truth. When I am at an antique faire or an antique market and I see a pile of old books I have to force myself to put one foot in front of the other and slowly walk, not run, towards them. Even though my eyes are fixed on that stack of books like a drowning man staring at the shore, I ignore my fingers twitching at my side and approach steadily.

Once I reach the shop or stall I totally forget about trying to appear like a normal human. I take comfort in the fact that the owner won’t judge me if I sink to the dusty floor and give myself over to the draw of the books. They would never judge me if there are tears in my eyes when I find an old Tennyson.

There are old friends in each pile and there are new friends whispering hello! There are ageless treasures and there are ones that have been loved until the spine is thin. 

I love literature.  I love that I can be anywhere in any world in a matter of seconds. That nothing is impossible. Literature is a bridge to that part of our soul that longs for creative freedom and for those few precious moments I can let myself fly.

There is no other comparable reading experience than picking up an old, leather-bound book and opening the pages. The leather, the paper, even the ink has a scent that is absolutely unique. 

Agreed.

Oh glory. I’m in love.

ca 1820, American, Silk

Is this not the most exquisite dress you’ve ever seen? It looks like the creator reached out their hand into the twilight and pulled the periwinkle fairy dust straight from the sky. 

The Met says this: The puffed sleeves of this dress are an indication to the historicism in dress at the time. As a reinterpretation of 16th-century slashing, they make a statement about the Renaissance and the rebirth of artistic notions. The beautiful hem detail is also typical of the period spanning 1820. These details gave weight and shape to an otherwise unbroken line of fabric, which was so prevalent in the decades prior to it. The Empire silhouette is readily identified with its origins in the chiton of ancient Greco-Romans, which was a tubular garment draped from the shoulders and sometimes belted beneath the bust. 

I think I understand what Hamlet means when he said, “… what dreams may come. When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. . .”

When we free ourselves from the confines of society, in this case the proper and accepted style of the 1820s, and dare ourselves to dream…well Hamlet said it the best: “… what dreams may come.”

I have to stop here for now, I have my own travels to begin and I know what I’ll be wearing in my dreams to fairyland tonight.