Journaux Des Fétichismes

*** Just after a summer rain… The air becomes warmer, exalting the fragrance of flowers bathed in dew, releasing a gentle mist. Time is suspended. Fine droplets shimmer on leaves and flowers. A gentle breeze carries the scent of roses, veiling space with its sensuality.... *** *** Wearing: vintage Laura Ashley gingham top (Similar Here  and Here ), red leather belt ,  H&M palazzo pants (Similar Here ), Zara sparkling sandals . Photos by: the lovely Maria M.

*** One warm morning I lay in my bed caressed by the ray of sunlight pointing like a golden finger through the dust particles in the air. Stretching like a lazy cat, I stuck my toes out from under the sheets and wiggled them, enjoying the feeling.  Then, lots of light! Someone had pulled the curtain open.. A smiling face beamed at me. "Hello, sleepy head!" he whispered.. "It's a beautiful day!" And so I discovered when we went on the terrace, as the sun filtered through the leaves turned everything into a symphony of soft greens.  The air felt warm on my cheeks for the first time in months, and that afternoon I wandered around streets of blossomed trees, fascinated by the shades of melted vermilion the town was covered in. At one point it felt like I was part of an old movie. London does that a lot, and especially when the sun makes that perfect golden hour light that is reflected in all of the windows... *** ...

Autumn Evening, 1895 *** Like other species, artists club together in movements not just for purposes of identification but for longevity. Individuals who don’t belong to schools take longer establishing reputations during their lifetimes, and tend to lose them sooner after their deaths. Henri Le Sidaner (1862–1939) was one such individual: a contemporary of the Post-Impressionists who painted in dots but was not a Pointillist; revelled in complementary colours but was not a Fauve; and drew a veil of dreams over reality but was not a Symbolist, or only briefly. He was, as his friend the critic Gabriel Mourey described him, ‘a sort of mystic who has no faith’. When asked what school he belonged to, his own reply was: ‘None. But if you absolutely insist on categorising me, I am an intimist.’ If you’ve never heard of Le Sidaner, this may be why. But now the artist posthumously dismissed by the great Post-Impressionist scholar John Rewald as a fabricator of ‘post office cale...