Big Hats for Little People

I never imagined this red velvet 1920s hat would be so versatile when I bought it. It’s a cloche. It’s a Phrygian cap. It’s a gnome’s sugarloaf. And I don’t mean a miniature sweetbread baked by apple-cheeked little girl gnomes – the sugarloaf is anything but petite.

A sugarloaf is simply a pointed hat, and such headwear has been worn by a wide variety of cultures – including the gnomic of course – throughout history. It has landed atop the heads of whirling dervishes, been a travelling cap in Ancient Greece, a 15th century Burgundian noblewoman’s headdress of choice, a samurai’s ceremonial hat, the chapeaux of aristocratic kazaori eboshi, a dunce cap (because it stimulated learning in the 14th century), and the anointed, pointed sugarloaf of many a religious figure, from popes to Ottoman Janissaries.

And today it’s a gnome’s hat. How appropriate that it came from a milliner in Convent Garden.

In my research on girl gnomes I came across innumerable grotesqueries and countless kitsch tchotchkes, so here I am redressing the balance and shooting for cute. The silk embroidered blouse is vintage 1940s; the hat and apron are both relics of the 1920s; the 90s taffeta skirt comes out of my costume box (finally it has a use!); and the tooled red leather slippers are souvenirs I bought in Morocco. Cute, and just a little bit sweet.

A Sebastien Hart Murder Mystery, No. 1398

He parted the beaded curtain carefully, but the rattle gave him away to his beautiful target, and instantly she turned her auburn head, ears pricked up to listen. Catching his breath, he drew back into the darkness and admired her perfect form, visible through the filmy lace of the negligee she wore – or rather, didn’t wear. A trickle of sweat rolled down his brow, and soundlessly he cursed. Had the air in the close room suddenly gone up a few degrees? Or was it something else…?

Ah, the multitudinous joys of pulp fiction. The ridiculous covers featuring scantily clad and pulchritudinous women, the silly copy … What could be more fun than a photoshoot with my friend Sapphire on the theme? After researching dozens of covers (see some here in the Scrapbook), we came up with two concepts, the first of which you see here, featuring the saucy and scantily clad temptress reclining on a suggestively rumpled bed, gun in hand. I love Sapphire’s come-hither look that is belied by the dangerous weapon in her hand ($2.99 from the closest two dollar shop).

Her vintage lingerie comes out of my closet: a flamingo pink slip with a pleated and ruffled hem, and a lacy negligee both c.1960s or 70s, and her curls courtesy of 45 minutes of patient curling by the hairstylist (me) with my iron. And what fun to sort through the photos, complete the artwork and write some suitably lurid copy.

Stay tuned for Sebastien Hart’s next title … 

Doomed Cassandra

I have always enjoyed stories of classical times, whether myth or legend or more prosaic fact. Greek tales are entertaining and fascinating; tragic and comic. Cassandra, one of those poor, tragic heroines who suffered a terrible fate, was both a Princess of Troy and a toy of the gods.

Daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba, Cassandra was astonishingly beautiful, which meant that she inevitably caught the roving eyes of a god. Apollo fell in love with her and blessed her with the gift of prophecy. Accepting his teaching, Cassandra afterward refused to become his lover. Petulant in his rage at being spurned by a mere mortal, Apollo cursed her so that thereafter no one would believe her words.

Cassandra foresaw the destruction of Troy at the hand of the Greeks, but to her despair and frustration she was unable to do anything to save her city or those she loved. She was believed to be either mad or a pathological liar, and was rejected and locked up by her own family.

But the tragedy doesn’t end there. In the aftermath of the war, she was raped twice and was finally carried off by Agamemnon as the spoils of war. She bore him two children only to be murdered with them by Agamemnon’s wife Clytemnestra at the last.

Creating Cassandra

To bring Cassandra to life (sans long red hair) I wear a white cotton dress by i.sixseven I’ve had for many years. It ties with a sash and is embroidered all over with a paisley pattern. The jewellery is from several sources: the gold coin earrings were the very first item I purchased on Etsy; the turquoise blue pearls were found on eBay, and the multi-strand seed bead necklace from a Melbourne boutique. White, gold, turquoise: I always associate these bold colours with clothing and jewellery of antiquity.  

But the piece that lifts this modern day bohemian and places it in antiquity is the turban: a hand made rope of fabric twisted with ribbon and pompom trimming that comes from the talented and creative Lana of Crude Things, my American alter ego. The rope can be looped and tied anywhere on the body – wrapped around the torso, for instance. Lana and I met via Instagram, where she discovered this journal and she asked me if I would consider using one of her pieces in a story on this blog. I said yes of course, and the rest is history!

The background images are pictures of the Palácio Nacional da Pena in Sintra, Portugal, taken in 2011. 

Blown Away

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

A few years ago I came across an evocative image by Georges Lepape (1887-1971), a French illustrator working for magazines such as Harper’s Bazaar, Vanity Fair and Vogue during the Belle Époque era at the turn of the twentieth century.

He is best remembered for his fashion illustrations of the Art Deco period, and more than a few depict wild atmospheric conditions, of which The Hurricane is one. It is not frightening as the name might imply, but rather suggests the winds of change that blow one in a new direction. One might say that the changes in women’s garments in the early twentieth century did blow in like a hurricane in fact – corsets and hobble skirts gave way to the easy movement of flapper fashions. 

While I have never experienced a fierce storm, I do enjoy being out on a windy day – I find it invigorating, and the sound of the wind in the trees exciting. Somehow the sound of the wind always suggests adventure to me, a bit like Vianne, the heroine of Joanne Harris’ book Chocolat, who is beckoned onto the road when the wind blows in a new direction.

Here then nearly a century later is my homage to Lepape’s 1915 picture L’Ouragan. Although his image was made in 1915, I have styled mine à la the 1920s – I deliberately waited until I cut my hair to create this picture. I am wearing a vintage 1970s dress (home-made from what I suspect is curtain material in the style of a flapper dress), a 1950s raspberry striped cloche, and a pair of Noughties ballerina heels.

The backdrop is an image of a storm coming in over Victoria’s Port Phillip Bay, viewed from Rosebud beach that I photographed last year.

Underwater Treasure

Beautiful, red coral, a living sculpture that has captivated both men and women since antiquity – from the warriors of Gaul who ornamented their weapons and helmets, to Roman children who wore branches hung around their necks to keep them from harm – has been harvested almost to extinction. Coral was especially popular in the Victorian age, but nowhere more so than in the Far East, travelling from the source in the Mediterranean Sea – the Italians were specialists in working it up into jewellery components.

Portrait of a Girl, Domenico Ghirlandaio c1485Paulina, first wife of Sir Codrington Edmund Carrington; Thomas Lawrence, c1806Prized for the skeletal branches and its rich reddish pink hue, coral can be polished from the naturally matte branches to a glassy shine. Due to its relative softness, it is usually carved or used to make beads. Today coral beads are made of non-precious sponge coral, with branches made from bamboo coral. Both are dyed red.

Rare coral Bacchante cameo necklace, circa 1860Pair of Italian hand carved vintage coral cameos set in 14k gold bezel and wire. The profiles depict the goddess Hera, wearing a tiara, and the goddess Ceres wearing ears of wheat on her head.

My two vintage necklaces are Berber, made from coral-like beads. They probably aren’t precious, given that the rest of the beads are composed merely of brass – I bargained hard for them in Fez though. I also saw the most incredible antique Berber necklace in Essaouira, a coastal town in Morocco, that dropped more than two feet (seriously!) and was composed of branch coral. The antique seller’s asking price? Over £1000. 

My red ring is carved jade from Vietnam; the blue ring on my middle finger is lapis lazuli and sterling silver that I made myself; and the second glass and sterling silver ring is a copy of a 1920s Rhoda Wager piece.

To see more breathtaking antique coral jewellery, check out this Pinterest page.

This picture was inspired by a wonderful under-the-sea 1933 Vogue by the illustrator Benito (below). For censorship reasons the fish in the foreground was positioned to prevent a birthday suit malfunction.