The Silver Rose

Once upon a time (about two years ago), in a land far, far away (the Antipodes), a fake princess dreamed of a series of fairytales. Here is the first …

The castle at sunsetThe Silver Rose

n a kingdom long-forgotten, in a town right by the edge of a sea, there lived the last girl who could remember.

All the townspeople about Elisabetta went about their daily business, they knew their own names and what trade they practised, and how to bake bread and which mushrooms in the forest nearby were safe to pick, but from one day to the next, they forgot what happened the day before.

The shoemaker’s daughter was the only one now who could remember how the town had lost its memory. And she was the only one who knew how to restore her people: with a silver rose growing in an enchanted garden, in a great castle on the hill. But there was one catch. The castle was inhabited by an enchanter, whom she didn’t think would willingly give up his silver rose …

The gauntletMaking the picture

initially had the idea of creating fairytales based on different countries, and was inspired by a silver rose languishing in my dresser. The image I had was of a girl running away through a forest, clutching the rose she had just purloined, and looking fearfully over her shoulder at the castle on the hill from which she’d just fled.

Since I had no hope to actually go on location and shoot this in front of a real castle, the original plan was to combine the photograph with a drawing – give myself super-long hair, lengthen my skirt etc. The entire backdrop would be hand-drawn too. But I was a bit lazy and had never got round to executing these grand plans.

The guardian at the entranceThere were hideous gargoyles everywhere …Then today I had the sudden idea of using one of my photographs taken in Sintra, Portugal, which is chock-full of fairytale palaces. I would in fact be spoiled for choice.

It was an easy matter to change the scene from day to night; my only difficulty was in deciding which of the three images I produced most evoked my original vision. But finally, we have Elisabetta fleeing the wicked enchanter inhabiting the Castelo dos Mouros, a 9th century Moorish castle. She’d better be careful not to twist her ankle too, on that hazardous path. There are rocks sticking out everywhere.

As for what happens in the story … who knows, except I feel quite certain it has a melancholy ending. Because who believes in fairy tales any more?

The silver rose gleamed in the dusk