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Russ Ramsey

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“”Do you think she’ll like your new tattoos? Instinctively, I touched the inside of my forearm where one of the sleeves of ink began. What had started as an act of defiance had metamorphosed into armor with every new design. Little black songbirds flew up my skin, the arc of a wing shading the scar beneath. Woodland details filled in the gaps between the varied species of birds and a curl of honeycomb rounding my left biceps. The latter had been an impulse, really. A nostalgic dig of the knife that suddenly felt far too exposing.”

“Cleo was like those little bluebirds of happiness in Cinderella, flitting around until Natalie had been transformed into a princess. A fraudulent one, to be sure, but a princess nonetheless. The silk dress from her mother's closet had been transformed into a couture masterpiece by the sartorial skills of Cleo's talented aunt. The sheath now fit like an extremely flattering glove. Its color, and the bright handwork accents, echoed the colors of the precious vase---jade green, turquoise, marigold, and fuchsia with veins of cobalt blue. She paired it with the gold-heeled sandals, the vintage watch, and a gold snake belt borrowed from Cleo.”

“Revolutions begin with what is most intimate, with the things that lay against our skin. Clothing-creators world and time over have taken the greatest risks expressing themselves through what is hidden—reimagining movement, finding breath. The alterations reverberate through each successive layer.”

“Es war seine Geschichte. Er schrieb sie weder mit einem Bleistift oder Kugelschreiber auf Papier, noch tippte er sie mit seinen Fingern auf einer Tastatur oder diktierte sie in ein Aufnahmegerät. Er selbst war der Stift, die Umgebung um sie herum das Papier, das er nach Belieben füllte. Er kontrollierte die Geschichte und die Figuren, so als wäre die Realität nur Fiktion.”