$30.00
Théodore Gérard
The stage is set for battle! A twist of wool, a rustle of silk, and a hint of cream.
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Winslow Homer
Salt-crusted stones, azure moonlight on pale sand, ambergris clinging to cream linen, driftwood, and rose-tinted sandalwood.
A tiny woman stands in the center of the stage, the perfect woman in miniature, her copper hair bouncing in elegant curls. She is surrounded on all sides by a necropolis of maimed, mutilated stuffed animals, decapitated fashion dolls, and eviscerated wooden figures. It is a strangely ghastly tableau: the disemboweled toys ooze fiberfill, batting, and sawdust from their gaping wounds. In one dainty hand she clutches a shard of glass, and in the other she nimbly twirls a razor blade. Her face is twisted in a grimace of mad ferocity, and she hisses as she brandishes her makeshift weapons at you. “Play with me?” she growls.
Soft, yet sociopathic: white carnation, iris, orange blossom, poisonous pale white berries, and sugared cream.
Arthur Rackham
A feral eyeshine of amber gleaming through a pool of ink-black musk.
The Rothschild Canticles, Flanders, 14th c.
One good churn deserves another: butter, cream, and a thump of frankincense.
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