Welcome! You've arrived in England.
"Well come on! Follow me!” says the lowly wormy worm tree.
Into the woods where the moss Muppets play.
And the bracken is yakkin’
And the trees are electric green.
See that stone tower peeping through?
You do? Ha! Then you’ve found us and how do you do?
Eternally girly girl, lover of curlicue
Makes total sense
Well this is a Peta Panacea, the tonic if you will.
Needless to say: "Peter Pans" please join in the thrill
Sold on dolls, vintage toys, quirk collectors of cute, squeaky clean misfits,
crazy crafters, arty artisans, book worms, cat lovers as well
I trust you read the intro before I press the bell?
You did? Huzzah and Hooray!
The Imaginarium is now on its way...
Ever since I was little I’ve had this gift - I can communicate with dolls with souls, charismatic cudbuds and other curious cute creatures. Cudbuds are those stuffed toys that you’ve hung on to ever since you were more or less born and loved to death so they are well worn and inebriated with your heartfelt whispers and soulful pillow talk till they have absorbed a life of their own. My cudbud started out a fluffy plush puppy when I was but a squashy pink marshmallow, pre Marcheline...
Then the old boy ended up a baldy scruffy donkey with no name. I leaned on him a lot after Marcheline went missing and that’s probably why he got so worn out literally and figuratively. Now he’s ensconced on a chair in my studio with a vintage rescue bear. I have a reckless habit of rescuing bears from fairs and quirky cute things from car boot sales, charity shops etc when they wave wildly at me or yelp for help. As a pre-adored treasure rescuer I may also be guided by the dearly departed to go and salvage their precious (maybe not in monetary pence but sentimental sense) old things that have ended up in the junk trunk because nobody else in their tribe cared a toss but to toss. Then I get a sporadic inkling to charge off to a second hand establishment and lo and behold there is something super duper waiting for me to rescue. People present, may regard me odd way out but inside in I feel like I'm the lucky one, the one that sees the real deal, oh YES! You know what I mean?
I suppose you could say I’m a doll whisperer along the lines of horse whisperers, cat whisperers, elephant whisperers and so on. It’s a rare and special gift which some people possess. Maybe you do too? So because of this unique talent, I can exclusively bring you the never ending Cybiography of Royal Doll Town. In case you weren't aware of this major factoid, ever since the dawn of humans fashioning dolls out of all sorts of things from marrow bones to old rags, some doll makers, professional or otherwise, have been in possession of an inexplicable power of love to imbue a doll with a soul when they hand made it. Royal Doll Town is refuge for many a fait main (French for handmade) doll with a soul from the more polished traditional looking antique lady to the curious and quirky odd-bod ones devotedly created by a novice wanting to make a beautiful doll of their own, or for a loved one. You wouldn't find a mass produced plastic doll residing there, unless it was used for décor as we would use statuary, because plastic dolls have no souls, no life, and can only be decorative. Only dolls of a certain ilk, those imbued with a subtle “je ne c’est quoi?” have found their way there over time. You see, a doll inevitably ends up being loved till death, when their maker or guardian dearly departs, or it is forgotten about by the growing up of the child who adored it or it breaks and horror of horrors, may be thrown away or perhaps it is tragically lost like my beloved Marcheline. So for the most part the royal tower has become home to these disinherited old, forgotten, broken dolls and the discarded unconventional ones, to the spurned, rejected and neglected. Here their imperfection is perfection, their individuality a spirituality as it were, for there is beauty in broken, charm in chipped, character in cracked. Some dolls are extremely old, some newer, some adult looking, some super cute ranging in shape, size and design. But no matter what their appearance, they all possess an exuberance for life the likes of which I've never known before. They gleefully pursue all manner of arts, crafts and cultural undertakings. “We are ‘Palm-Hearts,’” the Queen enjoys reminding her citizens, “when love has been nestled in the palms of our makers and impressed upon the fabrics of our origins we have been born. We are forever grateful for the true value of handmade and being individual and that is why we are makers and our makings and undertakings are always in collaboration with our most cherished Mother Nature without whose bounty we would not have our county.” With a zest to make the best of things the dolls aim to please plants, insects, birds and animals with confectionery and couture in exchange for their by-products with which they can costume themselves, decorate their boudoirs and indulge their creative pursuits. A most successful mutual symbiosis exists here engendering an overall harmonious and happy hubbub of activity. The plethora of quirks and curiosities makes for a most entertaining society. A completely utopian and cuteopian place to which I was ever so ready to pack up my bags and move to if it weren’t for my big hulking presence and my seemingly boring old life back home in South Africa. Alas, like Giant Alice in the hole, well let’s just say Queen Marcheline ‘encouraged’ me to stay where I was until such time, if ever, I had acquired ‘the necessary where-with-alls' (as she diplomatically put it) to move literally nearer to her Queendom. She also pointed out the obvious, I guess, that Royal Doll Town is predominantly a colony for dolls, a ‘Dollony’, as she refers to it and clearly I do not fit the bill. So for the time being, I’m an interspatial correspondent of Royal Doll Town living abroad (in South Africa) keeping you posted about things wherever you are for wherever you are is not too far in cyber space. I’ll post the Biologs as I write them and illustrate them as best I can. I’m forbidden to take photos at the tower, as its loco is top secret, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to rely on my sporting artistic abilities to get the picture.
PS: This is me, pre Marcheline, with my sweet ever innocent sister (the angel whisperer) at my Belgian Grandparents' farm in Port Elizabeth, South Africa when we received these dolls for Christmas. Being a doll whisperer, I was rather disgruntled for that doll had no soul and never uttered one single word! It was only a few years later when visiting my British Grandparents in Cape Town, South Africa that I met and fell instantly in love with Marcheline.
The Cybiography of Queen Marcheline CLICK HERE:
AND HE SAID:
"Truly I tell you,
You're NEVER too old to be young at heart
P l a g i a r i s m is
a plague D O N ' T
S P R E A D I T ! ! !
R e s p e c t