Turin

SCARLETT’S LETTERS: Have Broom, Will Travel

Dear James —

I’ve recently parked my meandering caravan in Torino, Italia, and transformed it, with a quick wiggle of my exceptional nose, into a glass-enclosed nest surrounded by woods and autumn leaves. Between the chirps and trees, I’m finally at home, or close to it. Who would have thought it was in Pino Torinese, or Turinese Pine, that I would find my comfort zone? But perhaps the reasoning is not so obscure: A childhood fantasy was being a tree fairy, living among mossy evergreens, luminous enchantments crackling from my fingertips. It’s a fantasy that lingers yet.

Scarlett Rouge

SCARLETT’S LETTERS: Tarts! Frocks! Democracy!

Dear James —

I’ve been meaning to write you. There’s so much I’ve wanted to share, but my head has been so topsy-turvy with all these hats I wear: the chef cap coupled with visual-merchandizer visor topped by a filmmaker’s baseball cap. There are days I feel like a circus acrobat juggling while spinning, suspended in air; I stop for a moment’s reflection, amazed that I have the energy to grow so many arms. I am utterly grateful to have so many delicious ingredients to create the sweet-and-spicy dish that is ma vie.

Scarlett Rouge and Giovanni

SCARLETT’S LETTERS: 63 Ways to Say I Love You

Dear James —

Have I been MIA? Where have I been and what have I seen, and is it really worthy talking about?

When I tell people about all my travels the refrain is invariably, “Oh, you lead such an exciting life!” But globalization, as far as I’m concerned, simply means longer commutes to work, sprinkled with maladies from recycled air that of course have to blossom when I am on “a vacation” with, yes, my new lover. However, our destination is where he also happens to be working. We barely see each other except between the sheets.

Since we last spoke I went from LA to Paris.

Math Bass

SCARLETT’S LETTERS — Reality Is Just Collage

Dear James —

It’s so nice to be back in La-La-Land, to bask and see my face glow from the sunny rays Angelinos love to hate and Europeans hate to love. Being cheerless here is a crime.

There is a buzz going on in L.A., and it’s not coming from the massive electrical lines that grid the hills to the valleys, or found amongst the flashing lights of a red-carpet calamity. It’s happening in the young and vibrant art scene. Perhaps I am biased — I’m seeing many of my peers come into their own, flourishing into a thought-provoking conceptuality that juggles humor with irony. This is what I love; it’s unique to the creative expression of these bright groves.

Scarlett’s Letters: Art + Fashion

Dearest James —

What to write about for my first letter to PFC? There’s so much I want to talk about. Better start with the basics. And the basics in my life are art and fashion.

As you know, I am the 80’s love child of an avant-garde artist and a visionary nomadic Hun, and was co-parented by a community of drag queens in the throes of the transgender underground punk scene. I grew up in Downtown LA’s garment district, by day playing in a forest of fabric rolls, by night dragged from one art event to the next, sometimes even hooked into absurdist art happenings in the back of alleys or seedy, smoky clubs. From then on art and fashion