Lemurian City of Ladies

A Lemurian City Built in Memory of Christine de Pizan

Archive for the ‘Salon de Pizan’ Category

Raquel and I

with 3 comments

This picture was taken around 4 years ago, the last time I saw this girl in person. Right now I’m many thousands of miles away, praying for her and for her family, particularly her dad, who is battling a very severe brain tumor. 😦

This is a page remembering happier times, in a place we’ve both left but will always remember because of all the memories we made there.

credits:
flower, ribbon and frame – Eliza’s Bits: Profound Impressions Kit
papers and star button – Marie Stones: Rock Star Kit
friendship quote – Gina Maria

Written by foxndragon

July 7, 2008 at 1:44 pm

Posted in Salon de Pizan

Tagged with

Hiding Behing a Veil

with 6 comments

Actually, that’s the outer layer of my skirt. I love the combination of purple and green. It reminds me of lavender, my favorite scent.

It was my dad’s idea to use my skirt as a lace mantilla, a spanish lace shawl. And since I’m the picture, obviously I didn’t take it myself, which is quite rare! As the family’s “official photographer,” I always say that it is the photographer’s fate never to be in any pictures. 😀

page credits here

Using this same layout, I made a cosmetics themed background for my sister-in-law. It was amazing how I could use the same basic background and layout and yet come out with a completely different look.

 

Written by foxndragon

July 4, 2008 at 12:50 pm

Posted in Salon de Pizan

Tagged with

Anita Marie’s Letter Home

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To My Dear Friends Back Home

I know you wonder what I’ve been doing since I left for the City of Ladies weeks and weeks ago

Well

so far:

 

I’ve spent my days

tree_200.jpg

 

and many a dark night

 wandering through the City of Ladies.

 

I’ve been in the Catacombs

alone

of course.

Well

 I think I was alone

 

I’ve even been to the Circus

where I learned a thing or two.

Well

okay

it’s

been

mostly one…

 

 

I’ve haunted bookshops and curiosity shops and art galleries sat in a Tavern and listened

to stories

and drank wine and nibbled on cheeses from

places with names I can’t pronounce

and I’ve even worn my hair up

and

dressed in gowns made from silk

stolen

from Pirate Ships

and

handmade

by candlelight while music was

played on harps and songs were sung by women named

Felicia, Prisicilla and Carlotta.

glass_dress1.jpg

I must say though

that something is missing.

That something that makes the days just days and the nights only nights

and the grand sights I’ve seen

merely pictures that my eyes capture and store in my mind

just like

neatly lined photographs

in

a photo album that gets placed in a linen closet

or lost under a pile of

books

high on a shelf

gathering dust

in the dark

ephempattiscrapbk2a.jpg 

So

I wonder

what that missing thing could be…

 Oh yea.

Sure.

That’s it.

What can I say?

There are

Songs to be sung and all that fun stuff!

More Later!

Love from

a.m.m.

Written by Anita Marie

July 3, 2008 at 3:06 pm

The History of Modern Painting

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papers and hair ribbon from the Victorian Kit by Rose Made Designs (http://rosemadedesigns.blogspot.com/)
drawing of girl by my friend, Victoria Cayton (http://kanzeon-bosatsu.deviantart.com/)

~~~

The history of modern painting apparently involves mysterious faded designs, blue plants, many intricate blue butterflies and a blue-haired-green-ribbon-wearing girl who loves to dream the day away.

The girl dreams up all the ideas, the arts of the world. As she dreams them, they appear in the book and become a part of the history of modern painting.

The book will never end until the girl stops dreaming.

Keep giving her ideas for the great history of modern painting.

Keep dreaming.

Written by foxndragon

July 1, 2008 at 11:42 am

Posted in Salon de Pizan

Halloween Treat For You!

with 2 comments

 barani1-5.gif

BERNADINE SANTISTEVAN, DIRECTOR OF “The Cry” was kind enough to make a special trip to my blog “Owl Creek Bridge” in order to share some stories about making her Supernatural Thriller based on the Legend of La Llorona.

I am very excited to be able to bring you her story because
Bernadine is a great example of taking hold of your creative dream and making it live.

Please stop by and check it out here:

http://anita64.wordpress.com/2006/10/27/the-cry/

Happy Halloween from

Anita Marie

Written by Anita Marie

October 27, 2006 at 5:40 am

MANY HAPPY RETURNS

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by Anita Marie Moscoso

Inspired by the Soul Food Cafe Prompt:

” Fantasy Writing ”

http://www.dailywriting.net/FantasyWriting.htm

  •  danse-of-death.jpg
  • Slumber Boneset doesn’t celebrate her birthday because she’s not sure of the exact date and that’s always been a sore spot for Slumber Boneset because she’s sure of a lot of things.

    She’s sure about what the weather is going to be like, she’s sure of what it is people are thinking even when they’re saying something else and she’s always sure about where her six children and 14 grandchildren are and how they’re doing.

    Over the years people have made their way to Slumber Boneset’s House by moonlight and for a few dollars she can help them solve all sorts of problems.

    So to not know something as basic as her own birth date has kept Slumber Boneset humble.

    The plus side to this embarrassing situation is that it makes for a good story that her children and grandchildren insist on hearing every November 1st.

    That’s when they celebrate Slumber Boneset’s Found Day.

    ” Oh you don’t want to hear that sad tired old story again! ” she said to her family over the dinner table last November.

    ” Yes we do! ” the youngest Boneset insisted in a panic “Your story is the best Halloween Story ever!”

    Slumber started to laugh and asked her daughter, “ are you sure you want another one these?”

    “ More then anything” she told her Mother and Slumber motioned for her grandson to take a seat.

    Then Slumber sighed and she agreed to tell her story.

    Someone got up and lit the candles and someone else made sure everyone had their spiced apple cider cups filled and then the lights were turned off and Slumber began.

    danse-of-death.jpg

    Stonecrop Cemetery and Funeral Home is just a Park nowadays and there hasn’t been a funeral there for years.

    Sixty –five years ago though it was still struggling along.

    The problem was Stonecrop looked like a page from a Victorian Ghost Story about headless women dressed in white wandering along the rows of tombstones.

    No one really wanted to visit there let alone have their remains interred there for all of eternity so business was slowing down and going out to Larkspear which was an up can coming style of cemetery complete with dark green manicured lawns and park benches and reflection pools full of fresh clean water.

    Mr and Mrs. Cabbagetree were the owners of Stonecrop and all around they were good people who tended their dark overgrown cemetery the best they could.

    Because it was so old already there was little to no money coming in and what repairs were needed they did on their own and they really didn’t mind. Stonecrop was their home and besides each other they didn’t have anything else.

    They had each other and if you asked that was all they said they needed.

    One morning Mrs. Cabbagetree was out in the Cemetery raking leaves and trying her best to visit the graves as she worked. She was pushing her rake along when a sharp pain raced up her arm to her jaw and it took her breath away.

    ” I’m only 42 ” she said to no one and then the rake fell from her hands and she died.

    danse-of-death.jpg

    Mrs. Cabbagetree was buried on Morningside Hill, that’s where the children were buried in Stonecrop and I’m sorry to say it was an extensive section of the cemetery…infant mortality having been such a problem all those years ago.

    ” I know she wanted children, ” Mr Cabbagetree told on his friends at the graveside of Mrs. Cabbagetree ” and did she insist or even bring it up? Not once, she knew what this place meant to me, she worked so hard Burke and in the end that’s all she had to.”

    ” It’s not right, she should have had something of her own. She should have had that child”

    Everyone said Mr Cabbagetree wasn’t the same after he lost his wife. He walked slow and talked slow and you almost wanted to reach out and touch his arm to make sure he was there.

    He was already a ghost and when he died no one was surprised.

    They found him one day sitting by a reflection pool full of leaves and his eyes were wide open and in his dead hands was a baby’s rattle and a black shawl.

    After Mr Cabbagetree died the City started to bring in their own maintenance crews to keep up Stonecrop and one day they opened the gates and the first thing they saw were at least a dozen mounds of freshly turned earth dotting Morningside Hill.

    Mrs. Cabbagetree’ s grave was opened and when they looked in she had a shovel in her hands and a smile on her face.

    danse-of-death.jpg

    It was the Day after Halloween that the work crews returned to Stonecrop and before they could unlock the gates and go in they saw a little box sitting off to the side…. and it was moving.

    One of them looked into the box and there, wrapped in a black shawl with a tag sewn onto the collar that said  ” Slumber Boneset ” was a baby.

    She had black hair and her skin was a soft caramel color and one of her eyes was midnight black and the other was ice blue and besides that she was perfect.

    ” So that’s my story, I was known for a long time as the Cemetery Baby and some people think I have the gift … but we know better then that, don’t we? ” Slumber asked.

    From the other end of the table Slumber’s eldest daughter said, ” Mom, I think it’s time.”

    ” Yes it is…. please someone get my Shawl from my bedroom closet. Yes, the black one of course. After all, this is a special occasion.”

    Slumber raced down the hall to the kitchen and when she returned she had a shovel in one hand and a baby’s rattle in the other. ” Let’s go dear, I’m ready. “

    death-takes-a-child.jpg

    Written by Anita Marie

    October 14, 2006 at 8:10 pm

    Posted in Salon de Pizan

    Violet Delaflote Was Here

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     by Anita Marie Moscoso

    Inspired by The Soul Food Cafe Prompt

    ” The Red Death “

    http://www.dailywriting.net/red-death.htm

    crypts1.jpg 

    Violet didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the end of the world; it was what happened after it was all over that would keep Violet awake at nights.

    She’d would be laying there in the dark picturing a dead and lifeless world with a small yellow sun rising in front of a blood red moon while all around her room on tables and in the windows and on their own special tables were dead and dieing plants in overpriced planters.

    There were no starter plants with tiny little roots floating around in plastic fast food drinking cups in this room.

    Only the best for her little victims.

    Violet figured it was the least she could do for some poor plant that was bound to die once she got her hands on it.

    What she did to plants was nothing compared to what she could do to those colorful fish you kept in wine glasses with the half marbles scattered at the bottom. She was no expert in forensics but she was pretty sure that her collection of fish had starved to death.

    She had come in from work one day and found all that was left of her fish were blue and red scales stuck to what looked like a fish’s skeleton. She felt so bad about the fish that she never brought them home again.

    In fact, she decided it would probably be better if she avoided the live animal route all together.

    It wasn’t like she didn’t know any better.

    There was the puppy in the basket she got when she was eight. ” Santa ” had brought it and she still remembered the look on her Mother’s face when she carried the basket with the red bow tied to the handle out to the living room on Christmas morning.

    Violet had said, ” It coughed all night, I don’t think it feels well. Can you exchange it? “

    There was the kitten four years later that started to bleed from it’s ears and not to soon after that the baby brother that turned from pink to dark red right in front of Violet’s eyes.

    Then she grew up and moved out and started with the plants.

    It was like having a bad tooth…your tongue just wants to go to it and poke around. That’s the way Violet was with plants; she just kept buying them or planting seeds and they just kept dieing on her.

    And Violet kept watching.

    So it’s not really a shock that she couldn’t sleep at nights.

    And then it got be too much.

    One evening Violet’s dieing and decomposing plants couldn’t keep her mind off of the little things that nibbled away at her mind during the day so she reached for her TV remote control and when she pushed the ‘on’ button the little black and silver box hummed in her hand and she knew the battery was dead.

    She reached over and turned her bedroom light on and then she popped the back panel off of the remote.

    Along with plant murder she had rotten luck with batteries too. She had guessed that if she bought batteries from someplace other than ” Dollar Bonanza” (where all the stock was a dollar or less) they might last a bit longer.

    She reached into her nightstand drawer for some new batteries when she saw that the battery in the remote control had split at the seam and the acid had started to ooze out and then before it ran off the side of the battery it had hardened and turned to dust.

    She dropped the remote on the floor and reached for the little ivy plant that was dieing in the planter shaped liked an elephant. She touched one of the leaves and felt it turn to power between her fingers.

    Now that was a new one.

    Violet reached over and turned off her lamp but she didn’t sleep.

    It wasn’t soon after that she stopped sleeping all together.

    So instead of sleeping Violet did a lot of thinking; she thought about her dead and dieing plants, her puppy and kitten and little brother. She thought about the way no one ever sat next to her on the bus.

    Even if her seat was the last open seat and they had to stand.

    She remembered the way her own Mother would wipe her hand against her hip after helping Violet brush her hair and the way her Father would hold his hands out to stop Violet from rushing into his arms the way all little kids do.

    It was strange, those little gestures that people used to keep Violet away. They were the same gestures Violet saw when someone had a coughing or sneezing fit and the person standing next to them would turn their head or pull in a long deep breath and try not to exhale until they were safely away.

    That’s exactly the way people acted when they got to close to Violet.

    One morning Violet brushed her teeth and combed her hair and put on a bright yellow t-shirt. Yellow was her favorite color and today she wanted to do something nice for herself.

    She walked down to the Lake and watched birds fall from the sky and bees drop from flowers. The trees put up more of a fight. She could hear them creak and groan and she could hear the leaves whither and then curl and crumble right on the braches.

    When she got to the lake she put her hand into the water and she watched it thicken and could smell it go bad and then the fish all rose to the surface and tried to jump to land and before they were airborne for more then a second they fell dead back into the water.

    Violet got up and walked to a little hill and when she got to the top she sat on a bench and she could see the route she had walked because it was a dead route now and unless you were looking you probably wouldn’t notice the narrow trail of death; but Violet did.

    That was it for Violet, this was all she would ever do-she would infect anything unlucky enough to get to close to her and then it would die.

    Violet looked at the trail she had walked and saw the dead trees and plants she had passed could see the trees and grass and plants further away start to turn brown and curl and she could smell them turn to dust.

    Violet Delaflote was spreading.

    Violet walked to the lookout spot next to the Lake she had infected (there was no other way for her to think of it) and she figured she could just walk out and keep walking until the water covered her head.

    She couldn’t swim, she had never learned how…not after watching her swimming instructor drown all those years ago. ” She had some kind of Virus, ” her Dad told her ” and when she dove into the water she got sick and couldn’t breathe and she drowned.”

    Violet passed the picnic table and walked into the water and she was surprised at how easy this was turning out to be…but what was the alternative?

    She was a serial plant killer and she lived alone.

    That was Violet’s life.

    She kept walking and by the time the water was up to her chest she realized what she was doing…she spun around went under and fought her way back to shore.

    When she turned around and looked back at the lake…she covered her face with her hands and screamed until her throat felt raw.

    Then she ran.

    She ran and ran until she came to the Shopping Mall and she collapsed on a bench outside of the food court.

    People were eating and laughing and scowling and living…and when it came down to it Violet decided she wanted to live too. She wanted to eat soft pretzels and drink strawberry lemonade and she wanted to shop and be rude to salespeople…just like everybody else.

    That was what Violet wanted, she covered her face with her hands and she cried for the life she would never have.

    When it came right down to it Violet decided she might only be a germ that had somehow disguised itself as a short woman with okay skin and dry hair but she still wanted to live just like anyone else.

    She knew though she couldn’t do that like everyone else and Violet knew that was alright.

    So she took her hand away from her mouth and nose….

    And she sneezed.

    Written by Anita Marie

    October 14, 2006 at 5:38 am

    Posted in Salon de Pizan