Rosemary Starace
Come as you are
There is still time for again. Starting in the middle. Resuming. Picking up
like wind.
The fabric of the world shakes itself out—
Little flecks of beauty.
And Beauty, unfolding: I have nothing to hide.
I am made from whatever is.
I am older than the sun, than the water on earth,
its tears.
That dream Beauty gives: meeting the elegant Self.
I am waiting to be inhabited.
These clothes have been fashioned from what was consumed.
They have arrived to redeem self-pity.
They are self-pretty.
—Rosemary Starace
Note: The dresses have their roots equally in the gilded, flowing garments so abundant in Italian Renaissance painting and in the visual lushness of kitchen packaging castoffs.
OVUNQUE SIAMO 