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Peace Fairy

Here we are -- the crackpots of 65 Summit, marching for peace in downtown San Francisco, 2003. Left to Right, Me in my Peace Fairy gear, a friend of Allen's, a Russian friend Sveta met during the march (I believe), Sveta carrying Alex, Marie, her daughter Marion, and Allen, carrying one of his bucket drums.

Peace Fairy Tells a Story

Listen, young man, those are helicopters in the sky, not bombs. . .

Hawaii Girls

Fran and Foo in Hawaii 2006. (Foo on left, self on right.)

Renaissance Women

Left to right: Foo (The Great Warrior Foute), Sarah (Le French Painter), Francesca (The Sorceress Franchesika), and Elizabeth Iana Andromache Tiffany Sunbeam Walker Iasiello (Liz). The intrepid adventurers "intrep" before the mysterious implement called "Kam-rah" on their way to the Renaissance Faire.


Nostalgia shot of me, complete with green feathers, pink roses, and misty atmosphere.


A portrait of me in the Pre-Rafaelite style, only without the haughty look and distended lower lip.

Café Women

The Queen's five handmaids depart the Renaissance Faire and enter the dark world of Café Nuvo. Left to Right: Marit, Laura, Foo, Café Poetry Guy, Sarah, Francesca.

Prim Prom

Primrose Promises? Hardly. This Prom, we went for the dramatic. I think there was some kind of "Masked Ball" theme.

Stuff and Nonsense

Francesca à la Gypsy at David's senior prom.


Foo possessed by Artemis. She bears the sacred Wilberforce (rubber octopus and keeper of the faith extraordinaire.)

Spark Plugs

Two friends in two very silly matching spark plug outfits. Jon Perel and Willow Regnery.

Cum Laude

Foo and I at our high school Cum Laude induction ceremony -- which took us by surprise. Foo happened to be in deep mourning for the end of the Star Trek: The Next Generation series, so here she is captured in black veil and skirt.


Years ago, when I still wore turtlenecks: My two best friends and I gossip. Down to Up: Me, Liz, Foo.


This headshot's very flattering.

If You've Got It. . .

The clan does Rocky Horror. Left to right, John, Jacoba, Marit, David (yes, in the skirt), Foo, Dylan (the anomaly in his Ren Faire outfit), Liz, Jon, me, Sarah (in her silver sequin beret.)

Octopus Trio

Three ladies display the newest undersea chic. Left to right, Sarah, Foo, Francesca. Image courtesy of Chiquita Raquelita.


Lizzie's mysterious smile.

Thai Food

Here we are eating Thai food, cuisine of the Gods. Left to right: Sarah, Willow, and Francesca (me). You can see my typical attire in this photo -- velvet dresses and Victorian jewelry.

Her Ladyship the Princess Ozma of Oz

Condescend to look upon her furry majesty.

The Young Sleeper

I remember the texture, smell, and taste of that blanket you see me on. It smelled like warm, freshly bathed skin, had the texture of a rare Armenian lamb, and tasted like Godiva chocolate. It was the magic cape of my childhood.


You see that flamingo in the group of swans? Well, that's me. By the way, I took this photo a dozen years ago in Bonnie England, at the Swannery near Eype's Mouth. This flamingo, glorying in her pinkness, had traveled up the coast of England for two years with the flock of swans by the time I took this picture.


We have had so many Victorian teas I really cannot recall half the time which of these images came from which particular gathering, especially with the men, since their costumes remain relatively the same (lucky them!) Spats and a waistcoat, and a top hat of course, will usher you through much of the Victorian era if you are of the male persuasion.

Then again, perhaps the ladies get to have all the fun, hosting sewing parties and plowing through the Salvation Army for dress bases, hat trims, faux flowers, and extra frills. What fun! Only later, in the 18th Century party, did the men get a taste of what preparation has been like for us ladies all along. And yes, Foo and I dragged them to her place in Sonoma and forcibly be-frilled them. Or at least the ones who couldn't be trusted to be-frill themselves. (That was also fun. Ah, many fond memories.)

These events are held at "Evergreen Manor," courtesy of the mother of the Foo. The Foo serves as our primary organizer. (The rest of us wore out on the organizing after only a few parties.)

Victorian Tea

The prototypical Victorian Tea photo -- one of the first. Back row left to right: Rejemy, Me, Smike, Racquelita, Sraah, Urk, girlfriend of Dylan's, Ben, relative of Dylan's, Dylan himself. Front row: Izbit, David, Foo, Satya.

The Sepia Version

And here we are, tinted like an old photograph.

The Fixin's.

All the fixin's. We do not stint for dainty victuals at these events.

The Tea

And of course, the tea is even more essential.

The lovely Sarah

The lovely Sarah as Queen Victoria in mourning.

Victorian Fran

Yes, this is me enjoying myself thoroughly as a Victorian damsel.

Milady Foo

She presides over our first tea with the practiced panache of a lady of the Ton.


Satya cross-dresses as a Victorian gentleman.

Madame Liz

Liz (Iana), one of my oldest and weirdest friends, emulating her obvious alterego, a Victorian female of dubious repute.

Jon in Heaven

Her Willowness, Jon P., and Raquelita, at another Victorian 'do. It's good to be Jon. . .

Yeah right.

One of my favorite expressions.


Our parties have gotten more elaborate over the years. This turn-of-the-century gathering, held at Evergreen Manor, was a truly decadent belle epoque event.

Silly Men

Our silly men: Paul, Ben, Urk, t'other Paul, John.

Edwardian Belles

Left to right: Izbit, Sraah, Willow, Me, Raquelita, Fooling, Brita

Dainty Willow

Sipping her Tea in a Ladylike Fashion, the lovely Willow contemplates writing her latest poem, and how she can make the acquaintance of that scoundrel, Oscar Wilde.


Manet himself would have been proud. Rachel prepares for a crack at the ball while I stare off into the distance in the background, as usual. Look at our hats! We made our hats ourselves by hand. Mine was made almost from scratch -- I cleaned a dirty old nylon sunbonnet and covered it with ruffled peach material, trimming the brim with a peach feather boa. The top is covered with beads and sequinned details impossible to see from this angle. And I don't know what Rachel did to make her hat, but I love those mysterious gauze layers! Rachel has a way with colors. How I love that lady. And she is so photogenic! How does she do it? Enquiring minds.


The 18th Century Salon last December has really been the apex of our sartorial accomplishments, if anyone asks me.

Chateau du Wilberforce

Comtesse Iana (Liz) and Duc Dylan du Dilletante (Dylan) deign to grace our humble abode. Background imported direct from France. We had some pretty stunning home-made costumes, if I do say so myself. We rock the world! I can't wait to see the rest of the pictures from this party. Chandeliers courtesy of Mme. Photoshop. View the Original Image, courtesy of Ben Hartshorne.


Rachel the Beauty holds court at our 18th Century Salon in her handmade green brocade gown. Background tweaked by Photoshop. View the Original Image, courtesy of Ben Hartshorne.


Soulful Willow.


This image is almost entirely a fabrication. Constructed of eight separate photos from our 18th century Salon. I couldn't bear to see all those costumes wasted on a 20th-century setting, no matter how nice. So I imported us all into the Salon de Compagnie at the Petit Trianon in France, where Marie Antoinette entertained visitors. Left to right, Foo, Liz(Iana), Smike(Seth), Dylan, Rachel, Paul, me(staring out the window as usual), Ben, Eric.

All Above Photos Copyright 1995-2006.

People have this flattering habit of stopping me in the street and asking me to do photo shoots or portrait sittings or squack like a chicken while patting my belly.

by Samantha,

Photography Grad Student at Yale University

Samantha's photos are characterized by incredible clarity and focus (I was amazed to see the detail she captured). She asked me to allow her to photograph me while I was indulging in my " maquillage".

Window Dressing

Samantha took this shot from a narrow ledge outside my dorm window.

La Femme dans le Miroir

The mirror becomes a door into another land and there is no evidence of the original woman. She exists only in the otherland behind the mirror, a ghost inhabiting the frame during moments when the afternoon light brings her to the window to look out. The mirror becomes a cage and at the same time a peephole into which the curious may pry to examine her and her faraway life.

Jeune Jaune

Young Yellow. (detail)

by Aaron Henrikson,

student at Yale University

A remarkably gifted young artist. I expect great things from him.


"The autumn leaves drift by my window. . ." I love the wind in my face -- nothing makes me happier but rainy wind in my face.

Lost Keys

And there I am again at the Yale Station Post Office with my head in a bag, frantically searching for my keys. Keys (those ephemeral objects) seem to slip through my fingers with the greatest of ease. I don't know what it is with me. You can take it as symbolic if you wish, of my inability to grasp the gritty necessities of real life (organization, etc.) or you can just assume with a purse that big, anyone would lose their keys real fast.

Velvet Hands

This is one of my favorite portraits of myself. Thank you, Aaron! :-)


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