Artists came together to take part in the “Vintage Palette” event, which brought together 54 artists across nine themed teams, each telling its own story inspired by memories of bygone eras. This website is dedicated to the “Fairy Tale” theme, curated by Nymphea, and the six artists who joined her team. Together, they reimagined the world of Alice in Wonderland, preserving this small story as a memory of the event.
*The website and its design, as well as the translation and adaptation of all poems into English, were created by Nymphea. The poems are based on texts provided by the participants and brought together into a single story of this palette.
Nymphea
Within the maze of dreams, the paths all fade,
Where every whisper gives a borrowed name.
“I am not Alice,” — she calls from the shade,
Yet Wonderland still whispers hers the same.
Giana Raphael
***
Mondale
In half-awake reality, the borders disappear,
The tale rewrites the story it once knew.
The final page is closed, yet something whispers near —
And all my dreams begin to turn untrue.
Norttana
Within this room no spoken lies are found,
Old things alone remember what was lost.
The clocks that stopped still whisper all around,
And fairies hide beneath the shadows’ frost.
Fra Asken
The Hatter watches silently at night,
The little white flashes through the meadow run.
They carry echoes of a vanished light,
Of days when childhood bloomed beneath the sun.
Illarias
I fear no more the clocks that ceased to chime,
Nor fairies’ whispers, nor the wonders’ gleam.
I fear to wake and leave this world behind,
And find my home was only Wonderland.
Monlyro
They dance within the silent, endless night,
Foreseeing peace beyond the mortal shore.
The pale death angels fade away from sight,
And lead the lost where dreams exist no more.
***
Within the maze of dreams, the paths all fade,
Where every whisper gives a borrowed name.
“I am not Alice,” — she calls from the shade,
Yet Wonderland still whispers hers the same.***
In half-awake reality, the borders disappear,
The tale rewrites the story it once knew.
The final page is closed, yet something whispers near —
And all my dreams begin to turn untrue.***
Within this room no spoken lies are found,
Old things alone remember what was lost.
The clocks that stopped still whisper all around,
And fairies hide beneath the shadows’ frost.***
The Hatter watches silently at night,
The little white flashes through the meadow run.
They carry echoes of a vanished light,
Of days when childhood bloomed beneath the sun.***
I fear no more the clocks that ceased to chime,
Nor fairies’ whispers, nor the wonders’ gleam.
I fear to wake and leave this world behind,
And find my home was only Wonderland.***
They dance within the silent, endless night,
Foreseeing peace beyond the mortal shore.
The pale death angels fade away from sight,
And lead the lost where dreams exist no more.
The End
