For The Goddess Too Well Known - Blog Posts

Oh someone got our poem reference, @thescholarlystrumpet !

For anyone interested, the title of my flappers painting comes from a beautiful poem, "For the Goddess Too Well Known", by Elsa Gidlow, a British-born Canadian-American poet who published the first openly lesbian book of poetry in North America in 1923 (!), titled On A Grey Thread.

For the Goddess Too Well Known

I have robbed the garrulous streets,

Thieved a fair girl from their blight,

I have stolen her for a sacrifice

That I shall make to this night.

I have brought her, laughing,

To my quietly dreaming garden.

For what will be done there

I ask no man pardon.

I brush the rouge from her cheeks,

Clean the black kohl from the rims

Of her eyes; loose her hair;

Uncover the glimmering, shy limbs.

I break wild roses, scatter them over her.

The thorns between us sting like love's pain.

Her flesh, bitter and salt to my tongue,

I taste with endless kisses and taste again.

At dawn I leave her

Asleep in my wakening garden.

(For what was done there

I ask no man pardon.)

i have brought her laughing (to my quietly dreaming garden) ------------------------------ The scene: A smoky, velvet-lined speakeasy smudged carelessly somewhere in the pocket of a roaring, glittered New York City, 1924, nighttime. Prohibition is on, but the law books never really dissuade anyone from getting a drink, not if they know where to go. It sure as Hell doesn't stop Crowley from taking her Angel out for a drink, because Aziraphale wanted one. And hey, it's the jazz age, Crowley knows where to get weed again.

This painting is one half of a collaboration I did with my dear friend @thescholarlystrumpet, who wrote a fantastic companion piece on AO3 (Rated M, mind the drug use tag).

“I got something else to liven up your final night in town. If you’re feeling a little… daring.” Crowley looked sidelong at Aziraphale and arched one penciled-on brow. Aziraphale wiggled happily and slid off the stool to sidle closer, until her head was practically on the Demon’s bare shoulder. “Do tell.”  Crowley tried not to shiver as she could feel the Angel’s breath against her heated skin, smell the heady potpourri of perfume, wine, and a pinch of ethereal sweat, taste it on her (currently unforked) tongue. She held up the expertly rolled joint between two fingers accented by red painted talons. “It’s been a very long time, I think, since we really… indulged.” Turning her head just so, nearly nose to nose with her friend. “Don’t you think we’ve earned it?” “Why, you wicked temptress,” Aziraphale murmured, her voice low and slightly breathless, sly smile belying any hint of admonishment. 

full size and detail shots after the jump