Strange Orange

Yeah, a few of them are not quite Barbies... There's actually an Olsen twin doll in there. Don't know what I'm doing with it yet...

Here they're cleaned and waiting for the hair treatment to work...

Finally scrubbed out all the Barbies I got during the last 2 trips to the Salvation Army over the weekend. Whew. Now I just have to rewash some of the ones I got during the first trip and then I can start the next piece.

It's strange and also quite interesting, how things often connect, sometimes most randomly and unexpectedly...

The other day, while brushing out the hair of one Barbie with pink and orange streaks in her hair, I got this song running through my head. It was one I'd heard a long time ago and I knew I wouldn't be able to locate the CD. So I turned to the trusty 'net. While looking up the song (Rêve Orange by Liane Foly), I found a title to a book: Vivre l'orange by Hélène Cixous. Looking up Professor Cixous (who founded the center for women's studies at the University of Paris VIII, and is one of the mothers of poststructuralist feminist theory), I found Roland Barthes, a french literary theorist whose books I had bought a few years ago when I was researching narratology for my mom...

I'm sure all this stuff is going to get tied into the moths somehow... I guess I should dig out those Barthes books which I had never got around to reading and start! Meanwhile, here's the song that started the process:

Rêve orange. Plus rien ne nous dérange.
Je pose ma tête sur tes mains,
Sur ta peau d'ange.
Rêve étrange, j'ai soufflé sur ta frange.

Rêve immense de ton regard intense.
Dis-moi à quoi tu penses.
J'ai si froid.
Je voudrais plonger dans tes bras.

A quoi tu joues ? A qui tu souris ?
Si loin de nous, tu dors tranquille.

Rêve azur. Des fleurs poussent sur les murs
Et les arbres murmurent ton nom.
Je suis sûre que t'entends leur chanson.

A quoi tu joues ? A qui tu souris ?
Si loin de nous, tu dors tranquille.

Rêve orange, j'ai soufflé sur ta frange,
Posé ma tête sur tes mains,
Sur ta peau d'ange.
Rêve étrange, plus rien ne nous dérange.
Rêve orange, plus rien ne nous dérange.