Le Cirque des Rêves
This project was a collaborative venture to bring to life one of my favorite novels, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. For this shoot, I wanted to recreate the dreamlike experience that a patron of Le Cirque des Rêves might discover. Each photo is specifically titled to tell a story of magic and mystery. You, the viewer, are both a participant and an observer. You are a Rêveur, a lover of the circus who almost believes in the magic hiding behind every tent. With each step, you are pulled further into the dream.
Through the Eyes of Storytelling Girls
The Memory of Dolls
As you walk deeper into the tent you see her. Papered dress, cascading hair all tangled. Something is familiar. A little quirked head, that slight sense of melancholy. You remember a tea party, dressing up all the stuffed bears, with her at your side. How you laughed together as you teased Mr. Frog and all the rest for their bad manners, sipping lemon water out of mother's old China teacups. The late night slumber parties spent under a blanket castle, lit by nothing but a flashlight and dreams. Freddy once tried to steal her from you, when you broke his airplane. But you hid together in the treehouse, wearing crowns of twigs and laughing at all the world. But no it couldn't be her. She was given away long ago, or perhaps put up in a box somewhere to store. Where did she go? You wonder this as you walk by, looking back every so often. At the end of the hall you almost think you hear a sigh of sadness, but when you turn around all is still. That sense of melancholy follows you out the door. You may not remember, but she does.
The Hall of Forgotten Toys
You approach a tent that seems tucked in amongst the others, so nestled that you can't see the shape of it. The card outside is small and tied to the closed flap with a silver ribbon. In flowing black script on a white ground it reads The Hall of Forgotten Toys. When you enter, the light is soft and glowing. The tent seems much bigger than you first thought - it goes on and on in a wide corridor, the walls papered in storybook pages. The path is strewn with them too, and as you walk they make a shushed rustling sound, like leaves in autumn. Along either side of the walkway there are all manner of toys scattered haphazardly across the room. Rocking horses, puzzle pieces, pictures books. Various spotlights fall across them, as if you've walked in on a play frozen in dress rehearsal. You're surprised that you seem to be alone in the tent, but even as you think this you hear the ghost of a childlike laugh on the air.