Frieda Kahlo Homage

Parrots must be a common peculiarity of Mexican households. See corresponding story...
http://romancedesigner.blogspot.com/2010/12/latitude-for-compromise.html  
Purple is a very hard colour to photograph. The previous evening, Simmy took 20 pictures before she finally gave up...trying... to see if one of these photos would show true.
In the morning, Simmy said to Sam, "I'm going to take this rose outside and photograph it on the snow to see if it will 'show true.'
"Put some shoes on," he replied.
Simmy laughed, "I know, I have dashed outside, barefoot, least 4 times this last month. That is absolutely frigid, walking barefoot in the snow."
She slipped on Sams' big shoes and flip- flopped outside for the photo shoot.

 With freshly fallen snow as the backdrop, the very first photo turned out perfectly... this is the true color of the purple rose that I made yesterday.
Maybe all the difficulty just had to do with Frieda's fiery temperament.
I hope she's not scowling at me. Oy!
Somebody, Quick, go get her a cigarette!

Black Frock Compendium

Novel- 1941- February
It was a sight to see... a black frock compendium marched down Avenue George V. All three, Coco, Schiaparelli and Balenciaga had a strong Catholic upbringing and, though it was not the first thought for people who attended the fashion shows, it may have surprised a few to know that 'convent black' was the whisper of the runways. Both Coco and Schiaparelli had been sent to convents when they were children.
This would be the last time Schiaparelli would visit Paris during World War II. Coco was waging a battle for sole proprietary ownership of Chanel No. 5 and had found herself a suitor that would offer her a safe zone during this time.
Balenciaga floated back and forth, between Spain and Paris, keeping his businesses operating.
On this day, these three, who may have been runway rivals, walked arm in arm, in a show of solidarity, to the American Cathedral to... pray?... remember?... worship?... rebel?...
Only they would know what the march represented, for themselves, and for the public spectacle of it. Times

of war do not come with a handbook of rules.
As they entered, Lawrence K. Whipp was playing the organ.
The three designers walked to the front of the church, and in respect of tradition, they knelt at the altar and bowed their heads. Softly...

Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos
Santificado sea tu Nombre
Venga tu reino
Hágase tu voluntad
En la tierra como en el cielo
Danos hoy el pan de este día
y perdona nuestras deudas
como nosotros perdonamos nuestros deudores
y no nos dejes caer en al tentacion
sino que líbranos del malo.

Amen…  Así sea

Amen, Amen... 

followed in female voices.

As they exited the church, a shiver ran up the spine of Schiap’s back as the organ played. It was 12 noon and as the bells of the church chimed... the sounds blended with gunshots of execution leveled at French Resistance fighters just outside Paris.

Back at 10 Avenue George V, the two women settled into chairs and Cristobal went to fetch a bottle of wine from the cellars at number 12.

The two rivals were silent but serene, both lost in thought, thinking about the past and the future.

"Will you stay in Paris?"

Schiaparelli spoke first.

Coco inhaled deeply on her cigarette... sighing... and...sighing,... the habit of remaining covert in an haute couture business tying her tongue and compressing her thin lips into an impenetrable castle wall.

She did not answer as wine glasses were heard bouncing off of each other in bell tones of echoes.

Cristobal served the women and they lifted their glasses,...

silently...

and touched them together with the same determined solemnity that had marched down the street to the church.

           "Nice red statement," Cristobal said. "A truly palindromic colour... this scarlet." 

'Flame of Prophecy' Cristobal

Novel-
'Dearest Lucy,
I woke this morning to find the world painted in hoarfrost. Here, in Paris, it may be the most beautiful thing there is right now. As the sun came up, I wrote the word 'Mercy' on a screen door as I walked to the American Cathedral on Avenue George V.

As I knelt to pray, I felt there were changes coming. I did not stay long but made my way back down the Avenue...

My footsteps were already half covered by the snow and the poignancy of this white dust art was not lost on me.
I stopped at the display window of Balenciaga, a 'flame of prophecy' rose startling me in the white landscape.

That one shock of colour was a little, little flame of hope in this black frock compendium... and maybe, Cristobal, which means 'bearing Christ' was named to carry this torch.
Valentine's Day is coming soon, my dearest Lucy. If you happen by New York, buy a gown by Cristobal... and think of the time we will be together, to dance again.
Yours,
Richard