A Son's Poignant Remembrance On All Souls' Day

A son mourns the loss of his father
Photo: Chronica Domus

Since the early days of this blog, I have published a post each year to coincide with All Souls' Day.  These posts showcase a different item from a small group of mourning hair art that my husband and I have collected over the years.  As I sit in front of the keyboard preparing to write these annual blog entries, a funny thing happens; my mind begins to drift.  I contemplate how it is that we have become the stewards of these very personal mementos of other people's relatives. Then, I find myself reminiscing about my own dearly departed friends, relations, and animal companions with fondness and with gratitude for having known them.  In an odd way, by writing about our collection, my cherished memories of the people and animals who helped create them remain aglow in my mind's eye.

Now, let's return to the subject at hand, this year's featured mourning item.  As you can see from the preceding photograph, this art piece is yet another outstanding example that demonstrates the meticulous skill of the artist when composing a picture made entirely out of human hair.  Every strand has been cut and laid out just so, or finely snipped and pounded into position on a thinly-sliced ivory disc.  The masterly shading brings a wonderful sense of depth to the scene.  I suspect the different color hair used is a blend from the mourner and the deceased.  The whole forms a poignant mourning scene.  And, as with last year's example, this one is quite a rarity too. The inclusion of a human figure carried a far higher price tag for the person commissioning the work than, for example, a more typical mourning scene depicting just a tomb.

French in origin and likely dating to around 1830 to 1840, this piece includes several of the most common symbols of mourning.  The weeping willow tree is there, the draped urn atop the tomb, and even a lone pansy to represent love and admiration of one person for another.

The mourner, a young dark-haired gentleman sporting a smart tailcoat, is kneeling by the tomb of his father.  We learn of his relationship to the deceased because the gentleman is shown in the act of painting an inscription on the tomb.  From what I am able to determine when squinting at studying the minuscule words, which are written in French, they read O mon pere! un jour viendra ...  I take this to mean that father and son will one day be reunited.

Housed within its original frame and stamped brass ring, this happens to be one of
my favorite pieces in our collection
Photo: Chronica Domus

This particular mourning hair work hangs on the wall of our home's vestibule.  It is grouped with two other examples of mourning hair art that I've written about here and here.  I love how they are reflected in the small Regency era convex mirror, seen in the below photograph.  

Three early-nineteenth century mourning hair artworks
grace the walls of our home's vestibule
Photo: Chronica Domus

Other pieces in our collection hang on the walls of our bedroom.  A few are even tucked away in drawers, waiting in the wings to be paired with future acquisitions.  As you can well imagine, aside from a healthy dose of patience, a collection as unusual as this takes many years to cobble together.  

This grouping of two mourning hair artworks is found in our bedroom
Photo: Chronica Domus

This is one of a pair of mourning hair artworks believed to memorialize the
lives of a husband and wife

Photo: Chronica Domus

Here are the four mourning hair artworks in situ

Photo: Chronica Domus

Tell me, is there something in your possession that holds sentimental value and reminds you fondly of a dearly departed friend or relative you may be thinking about today on All Souls' Day?

A Husband's Remembrance on All Souls' Day

This sorrowful scene of mourning from my personal collection is constructed 

entirely of human hair, circa 1830 - 1840

Photo: Chronica Domus

Today, November 2, is All Souls' Day.  It is a day observed by many around the world who take time to reflect upon their dearly departed family members and friends.  Here at Chronica Domus it has become an annual tradition to share a piece of mourning art from my collection on this dedicated day of remembrance.

In this post, I have selected an unusually large piece to show you.  Not only is its size noteworthy, standing five inches high and four inches wide, sans frame, but the mourning scene itself is unusual in that it includes the mourner.  And, like many of the other pieces in my collection that I've written about (here, here, and here,) the entire scene is made of human hair.  I imagine the inclusion of the mourner, and the overall size - similar artworks are no bigger than two to three inches in diameter - reflect upon the wealth and social standing of whoever had it commissioned.  These were not inexpensive keepsakes which might explain their scarcity.

A detailed view of the skillfully executed and poignant mourning scene

(not the easiest item to photograph as it resides behind glass)

Photo: Chronica Domus

The forlorn mourner is seen leaning against a gravestone.  In his left hand is a handkerchief which he no doubt uses to dab away tears of sorrow.  It must be a cold day because he is dressed not only in a jacket but in an overcoat as well.    

From what I can determine reading the slightly blurry inscription on the stone, the gentleman is indeed a husband, mourning his deceased wife.  This sentimental hair memento, like most of the others in my collection, was made in France.  I believe it dates to around 1830 - 1840.  The inscription, written in French, best translates to English as "I will always cherish the memories, a tribute to my good wife".

The dealer from which I purchased this tender mourning scene had located it in England, along with a companion piece depicting another male mourner.  Perhaps that gentleman was a grown son.  I only wish I had known about the companion piece before it had sold to another buyer.  How nice to have had an opportunity to keep the pair together for posterity.  

Sadly, I cannot make out most of the inscription scribbled on the back of the frame, written with a lead pencil, in French, many years ago.  

Can any of you decipher what this scrawly inscription reads, I would dearly love to know?
(Image kindly enhanced by Toby Worthington)

Photo: Chronica Domus

"Neé Ferté" is a reference to the deceased wife's maiden name

Photo: Chronica Domus

There is some damage to the right-hand corner of the ebonized frame but not so much as to have deterred me from adding it to my collection.  Perhaps one day I will find a similar frame to replace it with or have someone make one.

Photo: Chronica Domus

As I grow older, there seem to be more cherished friends, family members, and beloved animal companions for whom I take a few moments to reflect upon each year on this day of remembrance.  My fond recollections of all the good times shared and all the fun we've enjoyed together never fail but to bring a smile to my face.

Is there anyone special you'll be remembering with fondness today, on All Souls' Day?

George Washington, Silver Spoons, and Thomas Jefferson's Peas

As far back as I can recall, I've had an eye - or rather two - for detail.  I blame my parents for the affliction, which can be both a blessing and a curse.  My father for example, now retired, was highly skilled in his profession as a tailor; details meant the world to him.  My parents would actively encourage my sisters and I to observe, compare, and contrast in order to better understand how the smallest detail - be it a button or the cut of a lapel - might add to or detract from the overall appearance of a garment.

The smallest details don't only fascinate me, but can at times become my impetus for telling a story and the lens through which I see a larger picture. Take for example the spoons seen in the photograph below.

Photo: Chronica Domus

At first glance, these two early American coin silver spoons appear to be quite unremarkable.  Devoid of decorative detail, aside from a simple monogram, one could easily be forgiven for not offering a second gander.  In fact, both the teaspoon and the large serving spoon possess rather a severe aspect to their design. There is a reason for this, and a fascinating one at that.

You see, it is believed that "coffin-end" spoons, as these are called, were fashioned by American silversmiths to commemorate the death of George Washington in 1799. The tip of the spoon's handle was clipped by the silversmith to imply the form of a coffin. This was a design which remained popular until about 1810.

The distinct shape of this early American coin silver teaspoon tells us that it was fashioned to commemorate the death of George Washington in 1799

Photo: Chronica Domus

A view of the flowing monogram engraved upon the coffin-end handle of the large serving spoon

Photo: Chronica Domus

Having culturally attained the honorary title of  "Father of His Country", George Washington, America's first president, was largely revered at the time of his death. His passing was felt deeply across the young nation.  Many citizens of his newly born nation were so moved as to actually don mourning clothes for months thereafter.  As one can imagine, it was not long until all manner of commemorative household goods and artworks appeared to mark this solemn occasion.

Oh how I kick myself for not bidding on this ink and silk mourning needlework picture when it came up for auction in San Francisco a few years ago - what was I thinking?

Source

I have owned the diminutive coin silver teaspoon for a number of years and acquired it without prior knowledge of any significance to its design.  It was much later that I learned about the association of the coffin-end handle and its connection to Washington's death.  Naturally, when I saw the large serving spoon for sale at a recent antiques fair, I had to have it.

Article Number 12 in the collection of a local professor was a coffin-end serving spoon made by silversmith Judah Hartt of Middletown, Connecticut in 1800, now happily ensconced in my own collection

Photo: Chronica Domus

The dealer from whom I purchased this piece had acquired it as part of a sizable lot of early American silverware assembled by a local professor. The professor had thoughtfully tagged each item with an informative label noting details of the item's origin and year it was made. The preceding photograph shows the label still attached to the serving spoon on the day I purchased it.

As this is a post about a presidential-related item, I thought it would be only fitting to photograph said item on an early green shell-edge pearlware platter. Thomas Jefferson, who followed in George Washington and John Adams' footsteps to become America's third president, utilized this pearlware pattern at Monticello, his mountaintop home in Virginia. Fragments of it have been excavated from the grounds surrounding Monticello's kitchen yard. Today, visitors to Monticello will be delighted to view an entire service of this attractive earthenware laid upon the dining table of the chrome yellow painted dining room.

Two Washington coffin-end coin silver spoons rest upon a green shell-edge pearlware platter, a pattern favored by Thomas Jefferson at Monticello

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, of course, what could one serve from such presidential dining accoutrements? Why, peas of course!  Not just any old peas, mind you, but the very same heirloom variety, Pisum sativum 'Prince Albert', selected by Thomas Jefferson to grow within the vegetable garden at Monticello.  Some of you may recall the post I wrote in June 2014, found here, on how I came to include these scrumptious peas in my own garden.

Thomas Jefferson's peas are still growing in my vegetable patch, from seeds gathered after each year's harvest since planting the original package, purchased from Monticello's garden shop in 2012 - this particular addition to our meal was collected early on the morning of June 24 this year
Photo: Chronica Domus

Here are those peas, served upon the same shell-edge pearlware pattern so favored by Thomas Jefferson ...

... and scooped from a commemorative George Washington coffin-end serving spoon

Photo: Chronica Domus

I do hope you enjoyed learning about these rather obscure silver spoons and their association with the passing of America's first president, along with revisiting momentarily the dining table of our third. Between these two men, of course, rests much of the reason for such a uniquely American day of celebration, on this fourth day of the seventh month.

Happy Independence Day everyone!

The Tale of Two Howards

nota bene: Please excuse the varying sizes and quality of the images that illustrate this post.  The photographs originate from two different sources and I do not possess adequate knowledge to unify their size.  Also, the two embroidery pieces featured have been photographed under glass which presents a further challenge.

One of the most rewarding and pleasurable aspects of being the author of Chronica Domus is the wonderful comments received in response to the posts I publish.  There are emails too, which often land in my box from readers that have stumbled across a post and wish to share further information about a topic or an item I have written about but don't necessarily wish to leave a comment.  One such email, received recently, aroused such excitement in our household that I thought I would share it with you too.  Here is what it said:

"Good evening, I was intrigued by your picture posted on your blog.  Please take a look at the attachments of an almost identical picture which I have.  Very strange!  Thank you.  Julie Archer".

For a split second, I hesitated clicking on the email's attachments.  Nowadays, one never quite knows what malicious viruses or internet nasties may be lurking.  However, I could see from the miniscule thumbnail pictures at the end of the note that whatever it was that Ms. Archer was sharing with me would be something rather extraordinary.  I was not disappointed.  Rendering me speechless - a rare moment I can assure you - I was confronted with an almost identical mourning embroidery to the one I featured in my post titled Mourning Howard, back in February 2014, which you can read, here.

Here is the young lady featured in Ms. Archer's mourning embroidery - she bares a striking resemblance to the one depicted in my own mourning embroidery seen below 

Photo: Courtesy of Ms. Julie Archer

These two mournful young ladies must surely be related!

Photo: Chronica Domus

As you can imagine, I was thrilled that Ms. Archer wrote to share her mourning embroidery with me. Having just acquired it recently at a small auction house in the north of England, Ms. Archer knew nothing of the artwork's provenance or who had consigned it to auction.  A quick internet search led her to the images of my own mourning embroidery, purchased in London some fifteen years prior. Having noticed the striking similarities in the scene depicted, the workmanship of the stitching and painted vellum head, hands, and 'HOWARD' lettering upon the tomb, Ms. Archer was compelled to contact me.  Surely, our Georgian girls must be related!

It turns out that Ms. Archer has a particular interest in historical textiles.  She holds a Textile Design degree from Leeds University and has taught both art and art history.  She is as curious as I am to learn more about the artist, or artists, of both of our embroidery works.  In due course, Ms. Archer intends on taking her picture to the university's textile department to see if they are able to shed some light on the piece's construction and origin.

What is known about such embroidery works is that during the late-eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, privileged young girls of the leisured and upper classes were expected to master needlework skills.  Most of them, or at least those that had any pretense to taste and refinement, dabbled in these "satin sketches".  Designs were typically drawn on silk, then embroidered using a variety of stitches, neatly showcasing the young girl's abilities.  Small features were cut from vellum and painted using watercolor paints or inks, a characteristic often seen in such late-eighteenth century embroidery pictures. 

Ms. Archer posits that perhaps both of our girls were stitched by sisters, or that the piece in her possession was a prototype of my own, a sort of "practice run". We might, of course, never learn the truth behind these theories but we both agree on one thing, our girls surely began life together.  

Fortunately, my mourning embroidery has been signed upon its wooden backboard by the young artist, Sophia Haine.  Sophia named her work 'Philanthropy at The Tomb of Howard', and dated it December 15th, 1797, the day the embroidery was completed.  Alas, Ms. Archer's piece is not visibly signed.  Does a clue await discovery, I wonder, if the embroidery is removed from its original verre églomisé mat and giltwood frame?

Ms. Archer's artwork is devoid of color and almost sepia or grisaille in tone, making it all the more appealing to my eye

Photo: Courtesy of Ms. Julie Archer

Blue, green, and brown threads and watercolor paints or inks add subtle color to my embroidery picture

Photo: Chronica Domus

Ms. Archer's initial research efforts have yielded two late-eighteenth century parish records for Sophia Haine.  The first Sophia was registered in Shipham parish and was born in Lympsham, Somerset in the year 1782.  She would have been around fifteen years of age when my mourning picture was completed.  The second Sophia Haine, daughter of Samuel and Maria Haine, was born in 1783, and resided in Lambeth, Surrey, an area now considered part of London. This Sophia would have been around fourteen years of age in 1797.   

My mourning embroidery which hangs in our drawing room is titled 'Mourning Howard' and signed and dated by the artist Sophia Haine, December 15th, 1797

Photo: Chronica Domus

Ms. Archer's unsigned, but surely related, 'Mourning Howard' embroidery picture is almost identical to my own, down to the faithfully executed fence and background trees seen at right

Photo: Courtesy of Ms. Julie Archer

Ms. Archer will, of course, continue to dig deeper into the mystery of who stitched her mourning embroidery picture and if it is connected to my own.  She has promised to report back with updates and is even prepared to undertake her own Magical Mystery Tour, all in the name of research.  A van and tent, she tells me, are at her disposal in case long-distance travel is called for. 

Thank you, Ms. Julie Archer, for reaching out and making me aware of the existence of your beautiful mourning embroidery.  I look forward to learning more about its history and what the connection to my own piece is. Who knows, we may even get an opportunity of reuniting our girls after two centuries of separation.

To be continued... one hopes!

A Mourning Memento for All Souls' Day

Photo: Chronica Domus

Today is All Souls' Day, a day to remember those that have gone before us.  The occasion also provides me with an excuse opportunity to share another piece of mourning art from my collection.

I've already written other posts on the curious and sentimental art of mourning, found here, here, and here, so I won't go into too much detail on the subject.  I will allow this handsome memento to speak for itself.

s

Photo: Chronica Domus

This diminutive treasure is a mere two and a half inches in diameter, or five inches with its frame.  Its imagery is composed of human hair which has been masterfully manipulated and arranged upon a thin slice if ivory backing.  The background has been painted to show a river and hilly landscape. A pyramid or perhaps the top of an obelisk is visible beyond the hills.  Typical symbols of mourning are represented by the weeping willow tree, the tomb upon a plinth, and a lone graceful urn.  The poignant inscription on the tablet, to the right of the tomb, reads "C'est tout ce qui me reste", which roughly translates to "all that remains of me".  Nothing else need be said to convey the affections of the loved one who commissioned this striking and dignified piece.

This is another example which I acquired in Holland though it was likely created in France.  The mourning art is housed under glass in its original mahogany frame which has developed a warm patina over the ensuing years.  I believe the memento dates to around 1830.

I expect many of you might well find this form of memorializing our dearly departed more than a little macabre, but I find the sentimentality behind the incorporated symbolism of such artworks not only pleasing, but rather fascinating.

If you'd enjoy learning more about this most personal form of artwork, I highly recommend you visit the Art of Mourning web site which is deftly curated by Hayden Peters, a fellow collector of mourning art and sentimental jewelry.

An Artful Remembrance on All Souls' Day

Photo: Chronica Domus

In many countries and cultures across the world, our dearly departed family members and friends are remembered on November 1 and 2.  Some call this holiday All Souls' Day, others the Day of The Dead.

I have previously written two posts on the curious topic of mourning artwork, and if you'd care to read those, they can found here and here.

Today, I'm sharing yet another piece of mourning art from my collection.  The image, constructed entirely of human hair, depicts a neoclassical draped urn surmounting a tomb.  It commemorates a death on July 13, 1839 of a sixty-four year old.  I have not a clue if the person being memorialized, whose initials are A.J.B., is a male or female, but there are two colors of hair strands in the image which might indicate that a surviving spouse added his or her hair to the deceased's.

A weeping willow tree and pansy are typical symbols associated with mourning during the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries

Photo: Chronica Domus

This is another favorite in my collection not only for the beautiful imagery which has been skillfully executed, but because of what is found on the back of the five inch square wooden frame.

The original manufacturer's label has been pasted on the dark paper covered backing, and has somehow managed to survive intact through the ensuing years since it was made.

A Parisian perfumer and hair cutter specializing in all things hair related 

offers his patrons pictures made of hair cuttings

Photo: Chronica Domus

Although the piece was created in Paris, it had somehow found its way to Amsterdam, which is where I located it. It now sits in my house thousands of miles across the globe here in America.

I find it strangely touching to think that while the person whom this hair work memorializes has long been lost to history along with his or her name, today on All Souls' Day, through the wonders of modern technology, we are able to share a view of this handsome diminutive and eminently personal work of art, and pause to contemplate just who this person may have been.

Do you make a point of remembering your loved ones on this holiday?

Mournful Remembrances

An early nineteenth century mourning scene composed entirely of human hair

Photo: Chronica Domus

During the early days of this blog, February 2014 to be exact, I wrote about a piece of mourning art that graces the walls of our drawing room.  You can read that essay, titled Mourning Howard, here. At that time, I had every intention of writing about some of the other pieces of mourning art in our collection in a series of posts.  For some reason or other, I never quite got my act together, until today that is.

Memorializing the dead, whether in the form of jewelry (rings, brooches, pendants), or artwork (embroidery samplers or theorems), was at the height of its popularity during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the period to which my husband and I have chosen to focus our collecting interest. In the days predating the advent of photography, commissioning a piece of mourning hair work was a far less costly alternative than an oil portrait of one's loved one. Naturally, this greatly contributed to the art form's popularity.

As peculiar as this may sound, the diminutive four inch diameter composition (frame included) shown above is formed entirely of human hair.  Yes, you did read that correctly, human hair. We purchased it from a dealer located on London's Portobello Road, during the Saturday morning market we frequent whenever we find ourselves in London. The person that sold it to us had unearthed it in France, a country famed for producing exquisite mourning hair art.  Mounted in a round ebony wood frame and held under glass with the aid of a brass collar stamped with delicate tracery, it is my favorite piece in our collection. I've yet to see another quite like it on my travels. To the best of my knowledge, I date it to around 1830 or 1840.

Unusually, this is the only piece of mourning art we own that does not show a sentimental dedication to the person being mourned.  Typically, the deceased's initials, and on occasion the year of death, are depicted on a tomb or gravestone.  Another feature that sets this particular piece apart from others in our little horde is that the hair has been collected from several sources.  The norm, of course, was to utilize the deceased's own hair.  As you can see above, the dark strands form an elegant weeping willow tree, a symbol of mourning, which stands in stark contrast to the lighter straw-colored hair of the urn, tomb, and plinth.  Each piece of hair has been skillfully adhered to a thin disc of ivory cut lengthwise from an elephant tusk, a material now rightly made illegal in many countries, but not so at the time of construction.

I've often wondered what it is that makes this elegant and severe study in mourning art so very special, and why it was that multiple sources of hair were utilized in its creation.  Had several members of the same family died together in some tragic set of circumstances, an incurable illness perhaps?  I wonder too if this piece had been created to be used as an example of a hair artist's work, demonstrating his skill to potential patrons, and his artistry and dexterity in pounding, layering, and aligning the fine strands of hair to form a pleasing mourning scene.

A grouping of mourning hair art reflected in the small Regency convex mirror that hangs in our vestibule

Photo: Chronica Domus

Whatever its intended purpose, it is of little matter to me for I take great pleasure in its beauty as it hangs, alongside a grouping of other mourning hair art, in our home's vestibule.

If you wish to learn more about the fascinating business of mourning, I highly recommend you visit  Art of Mourning's website for a glimpse into the history and symbolism of mourning.

Do you find this particular art form a little macabre for your tastes, or do you, like us, delight in its sentimental beauty?

Mourning Howard

Sophia Haine's Handiwork from 1797
Photo: Chronica Domus

A dozen or so years ago, during one of our journeys to London to visit my relatives, my husband and I did what we do on each of our visits there; we spent the day pleasantly trolling some of the city's antiques shops.  Walking along Church Street, close to where I formerly worked on Marylebone Road, we popped into a little antiques shop to take a look at what was on offer.

At the time, I recall the walls of our drawing room being quite bare, and we were both eager to remedy that situation.  Young & Sons, the shop into which we had wandered, had a vast selection of art pieces dating from the late 18th to early 19th centuries.  The proprietor was very knowledgeable and guided us to several pieces that might possibly fit our needs.  It was not until we went downstairs, into the basement level that resembled an Aladdin's cave, that we found it.  In the corner of the shop was a piece of art that we both silently knew was going home with us.  And, I'm happy to report, it did.

That was our initial introduction to the fascinating world of memorial art and all that is held within its symbolic meaning.  We have been on the prowl for more ever since.

Today's post will deconstruct some of the features that constitute a piece of artwork, such as the one we purchased, dedicated to the business of mourning in the late Neoclassical period.  This example is of English origin, but other countries once memorialized their dead in a similar fashion. 

Firstly, we do not know the relationship between the artist and Howard, the dearly departed gentleman who is the subject of this particular memorial.  Clearly the piece was created with great sentimentality as the artist, Sophia Haine, took the time to sign and title her work.  On the wooden backboard, she has inked an inscription that reads "Philanthropy at the tomb of Howard, Sophia Haine's work, finish'd Dec 15th, (1797)".

The artist's inscription

Photo: Chronica Domus

This tender dedication makes me long to know just as much about the artist as her deceased subject.  Miss Haine not only shows great skill through her use of  the needle and paintbrush (or would that be ink pen), but also her strong sense of caring and humanity is evident in the words she carefully chose to title her work .

Detail of Philanthropy at the tomb of Howard

Photo: Chronica Domus

The piece depicts the central character, a young female with flaxen hair and blue eyes, looking forlorn as she mourns alongside Howard's tomb.  Delicate silk and wool felt are the primary materials used to construct the scene, whose features are embroidered with a variety of stitches showcasing the talents of the artist.  The woman's face and hands, together with the letters on the plinth, are made of vellum that has been carefully cut to shape, and skillfully embellished with either watercolor paint or colored ink.  Miss Haine was surely an accomplished young lady to not only have mastered painting, but also embroidery to such good effect.  I assume the artist was indeed young as it was the norm to study the feminine arts as part of one's well-rounded education.  Strong sepia tones dominate the whole scene, with the occasional touch of deep blue to emphasize the eyes and the inky trunk of the willow tree.

There are many symbols of mourning present in this piece.  As was typical of the Neoclassical period of mourning art, a dominant weeping willow tree, symbolic of grief and sorrow, arches gracefully over the urn and plinth of Howard.  Another tree, possibly an oak, is shown with a broken branch to signify the loss of life.  Brown earth tones beneath the female mourner portray decay and mortality.

The urn, made of felt, is a strong Neoclassical motif related to death and still in use to this day.  It is a feature repeatedly seen in mourning pieces and is as central to the picture as the mourner.  The fact that this particular urn is draped could possibly tell us that an older person is being mourned, perhaps a father figure to the female character.  The urn sits atop a plinth, yet another mark of bereavement, and aids in elevating the urn skyward.

 

Philanthropy at the tomb of Howard
Photo: Chronica Domus

This, our first piece of mourning art, has slowly evolved into a small collection that graces the walls of our home.  Those pieces, however, are composed of an entirely separate element of mourning, something that would perhaps be considered macabre by many in today's world; human hair.  I plan on featuring some of them in future posts.

I hope you'll agree with me that this "long dead" genre of mourning our deceased, by way of such personal expression of creativity, is a fascinating subject.  I feel honored to be the steward of Miss Haine's work; at least for this generation.