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Monday, 29 February 2016
Thursday, 16 October 2014
Thursday, 11 September 2014
Flower Crown Heaven
Lightness + Endless Preciousness
Ophelia flower crown
© Francesca Zabarella
© Francesca Zabarella
Théodora flower crown
© Francesca Zabarella
Nausicaa flower crown
Cecilia flower crown
© Francesca Zabarella
Lana flower crown
Colette flower crown
© Francesca Zabarella
Hermione flower crown
© Francesca Zabarella
© Francesca Zabarella
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
love,
Franci
Sunday, 29 June 2014
Wednesday, 11 June 2014
Scarborough Fair headpiece
Are you goin' to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she once was a true love of mine.
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt
(On the side of a hill in the deep forest green).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground).
Without no seams nor needlework
(Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain).
Then she'll be a true love of mine
(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call).
Tell her to find me an acre of land
(On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
ù(Washes the grave with silvery tears).
Between salt water and the sea strands
(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather
(War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions).
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
(Generals order their soldiers to kill).
And gather it all in a bunch of heather
(And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten).
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she once was a true love of mine.
Lyrics & Music © Simon and Garfukel
Video © Falling Up Enterprises
Jewellery © Francesca Zabarella
♥ Precious headpiece composed by tiny golden metal leaves, inspired by the amazing song Scarborough Fair, by Simon & Garfunkel.
One size, elastic, adjustable to different updos. Nickel-free golden metal and grey-blue waxed cotton made.
One size, elastic, adjustable to different updos. Nickel-free golden metal and grey-blue waxed cotton made.
The perfect piece to get an indie/boho outfit.
♥
Franci
Tuesday, 25 March 2014
Ophelia, my sweet
Sweet Ophelia necklace, papierdoreille' s Spring 2014 collection
© Francesca Zabarella
John Everett Millais, Ophelia, 1851-1852. Oil on canvas, London, Tate Britain.
© Tate Britain, London.
© Tate Britain, London.
Odilon Redon, Ophelia parmi les fleurs, 1903.
Pastel on paper, private collection.
Pastel on paper, private collection.
William Shakespeare, HAMLET, Act IV, Scene 5
Ophelia. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,
remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.
Laertes. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted.
Ophelia. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you,
and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.
and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.
O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I
would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father
died. They say he made a good end.
would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father
died. They say he made a good end.
[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laertes. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
She turns to favour and to prettiness.
Ophelia. [sings]
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead;
Go to thy deathbed;
He never will come again.
His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll.
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan.
God 'a'mercy on his soul!
And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi' you.
© Francesca Zabarella
William Shakespeare, HAMLET, Act IV, Scene 7
Gertrude. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element; but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
© Francesca Zabarella
franci
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