Friday, January 20, 2012

From the Scrapbook of Our Dear Rosemary

Our dear Rosemary resides in Malta now, of course, at the ancient family home of one of Minnie's distant relatives, an old pagan cousin of the famous Maltese opera composer, Nicolas Isouard. Guy has, in the manner of his choosing, burned brightly & then -- poof! -- out altogether. Here is a very rare photograph of Rosemary at a Maltese costume ball in the early '70s, held at the estate of Malta's poet laureate, Dun Karm Psaila. If you perceive a more knowing look in her eyes than you saw when she was last a public figure, you are not wrong. Rosemary has become a quite headstrong, resolute mover & shaker behind the scenes in many countries & many spheres of influence.


Here is an equally rare photograph of the young Rosemary Woodhouse, though her last name is never used any more. It is enough in our circles to simply say, "Rosemary". I've chosen this particular photograph because it emphasizes how many iconic objects in the world are also portals. The record albums she is holding may as well come with planchettes, because they are easily converted from popular consumer fare to objects of the unholy in the blink of an eye, by a simple change in our perceptions brought about by something as ordinary as a glass of wine, the passage in a great book, or hearing Pan's flute seductively keening behind the clamor of  today's rock music. Minnie and I are constantly surprised on our afternoon excursions, scouring the junk shops & boutiques of the West Side, at how many of their dusty glass shelves & quaint French display cupboards hold objects as divine & powerful as those emblazoned with the symbols of our kind. Of course, these objects would sit forever obediently & impotently next to the most abominably tasteless Hummel figurines in most middle class homes & their owners never be the wiser. Or a shadow may cross the sun at dusk on some otherwise pedestrian day & suddenly the object's owner will see the thing for what it is, its brazen, seething internal mechanisms, ripe with the promise of physical pleasure & all-enveloping darkness, bold & wicked as nature herself. 

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