The ancient romans believed that butterflies are flowers broken by the wind. As a child I was dragged by my older cousins, who firmly believed that collecting butterflies was a fun and rewarding summer activity, to spend most part of my hot summer days chasing butterflies. Armed with a deadly butterfly net we would fight over a hunting territory confined to a lavender bush. The delicate part of the game was to extract the graceful insect, briskly interrupted in his conspicuous and fluttering flight, from the net without damaging its brightly coloured wings. The iridescence coloration of its four wings, created by the microstructure of the scales, would stain my fingers. This 'powder' felt thick, smooth and sensual to me but I also felt a sense of unease at the thought that I was striping the former caterpillar from its make-up.
After a short stay in a 'killing jar' in the companionship of deadly formalin soaked cotton balls… then, all you had to do was to pin your victims in a display case. The ephemeral, delicate and wearing make-up insects could then adorn your wall or your serving trays, stuck for eternity in a glass box… A.D
asymmetric top : Topshop | african print skirt : made to order | shoes : Accessorize | necklace : Kate Spade
