Pascale Petit, Mama Amazonica; from 'Bestiarum'
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And the waters keep on breaking
as I reverse out of my body.
My life dances on the silver surface
where cacti flower.
The ceiling opens
and I float up on fire.
Pascal Petit, from “What the Water Gave Me (IV)”, What the Water Gave Me: Poems after Frida Kahlo
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Sophie's choice: 💕
I present to you "Gamin" ("Kid") a cute little suit in black wool tweed with its matching scarf and cap that I fell in love💕 with. This suit is part of the Haute Couture fall/winter 1961-1962 collection by Christian Dior (Marc Bohan) Several models posed for this set, as well as several photographers. Here are six very representative shots of my choice.
Photo Mark Shaw. Model Mickey Belverger
Photo Sante Forlano. Model Anne de Zogheb. US Vogue, September 15, 1961
Photo John French. Model Kouka Denis
Photo Roger Prigent. Unknown model
Photo Georges Saad. Model actress/singer Pascale Petit
Photo Frank Horvat. Model actress/singer Pascale Petit
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My mother, who today is just
a coat hung on the line —
let me be a musician-wren
and nest in your pocket
to sing you these fluted notes
straight from the forest’s throat.
Pascale Petit
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Pascale Petit, Mama Amazonica; from 'Jaguar Girl'
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Pascale Petit: Salt Bride
(after Sigalit Landau) How long has Earth floated in her salt dress? When did her bridal gown crystallise, weighing her down like an anchor inside a dead sea? Who lowered her into the abyss? Whose tears does she wear? Bride who once somersaulted through the fathoms like a song-whale flooding ships with her psalms, homing through the deep, attended by shoals of stars. She is an antique dress with…
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(Poem beginning with a line by Lucie Brock-Broido)
Tell me there is a meadow, afterwards,
that the roe stag will come
to the top of my garden,
that the window will cut me
with glass blades
of dewy hooves.
That I'll lay out my doe mask,
my necklace of icicles,
onto the deep windowsill.
Tell me the stag will be there
among nettles and briar, his mouth
panting, his lungs clear.
That his legs won't tangle
in the electric wire
around my tower.
That if he can't find his way
back into the before,
his horns jewelled
with thorns and flowers
might grow into a tall grove.
Tell me that even in my solitude,
my altar goods laid out
to the god of woods,
that this red deer
against the steep viridian field
will sprout a ladder between his tines
that I can climb.
That his antlers will be strong
as my spine, that I will scale
the rungs of myself
out onto the clouded
chancel of the sky, my body
slick as a newborn fawn.
Roe Stag by Pascale Petit
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