Three years
ago when spring began to slide her silvery fingers through the skies, I decided
to eliminate pure white garments - so stiff in their crisp harsh piety - from
my wardrobe, in search instead for the pale shades of my own nude body. Nude
colour appears vulnerable, tender, a shade burgeoning in development, a
delicate bud not yet in bloom. I proceeded to dye my white blouses in a
series of hues to find these elusive tones of pinky beige. My friends called it
'peige'.
Dying silk
is a true pleasure as the fine threads soak up the pigment eagerly and with
even distribution. Mixing different ratios of powdered dye to a myriad of
results - pink, taupe, peach - resulted in this litany of blouses emerging from
the steam. In silk thin as skin these natural tones seem a part of the human
body. Sisters of springtime, lined up in my closet they await their chance to
be worn as a string of kindred virgins might have awaited the first suitor.
-JW
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