Fire Signs of the Vanities

Behind The Scenes & Under the Table with Sepulchritude





"Instead of just using them as grocery lists, perhaps it's time to start writing our epitaphs."
— Mordantia Bat


"Ahh. I do so love walking the tightrope of Art vs. Shameless Self-Indulgence. One never knows which way the wind may blow."
le Marquis Déjà Dû


"I have the bad habit of taking our fabulousness sometimes for granted, but other people don't."


"Feeling jocose."
Comtesse Melusine de Nuit




(I pulled your quotes from email I had stored. Now, I know Liz has said many cool things about our brilliance, but I couldn't find the right one .... feel free to substitute that.)



The Turn of the Century/Millenium found us twisted into a curious position, chafing our loins as we straddled the fence betwixt past and future. Yes, we too had succumbed to that collective madness that produced retrospectives ad nauseam and benedictions/predictions cast at the future.

The result?

We became intent on the idea that we should define and identify "Sepulchritude" as a cohesive collective of we four; document its history; and position it as our own personal portal to both elude and stake out our place in Time. Uh-huh.

In documenting our history and looking over our ever-burgeoning Body of Works, we began to find anecdotal tidbits we know would amuse and scintillate a certain subset of our audience. Sometimes, when we've encountered other impractical artist/writer types, we merrily indulge in those "I'm-in-love-with-art" conversations that really annoy more practical individuals as well as those people who think of "pretentious" as a bad word. Well, we've long since thorougly honed all our affectations at this point, and there's no going back now. So, we are doomed to just keep on frosting the damn cake.

Thus, this section is definitely: Indulgent. Vain. Archival. Lofty. Froofy. However, we know there is a subset of our audience who will get into it. So, it is for you people that we indulge. And to the rest, our apologies and a warning to avert your eyes and hit the "back" button on your browser. You do not wish to enter the abyss of anecdotes and other extracted ephemera.

To the rest of you — the curious, the enervated, and the starved — here's the elevator going down …


Fire Signs of the Vanities
Behind The Scenes & Under the Table with Sepulchritude

To explain both the title of this section and some of our own tendencies and failings, we turn, briefly, to astrology.

We are all fire signs. Three of us (Bat, Kallisti, and le Marquis) are Leos. Melusine is a Sagittarius. And we all get along quite well, thank you. (However, this tidbit explains why Melusine in the Horrorscopes tends to subtlely and mercilessly tease us with the Leo section.)

Thus far, in our little lives, we have each embroiled ourselves in various creative projects, struggling, striving, waiting to get noticed (or at least paid), and along the line actually came to the conclusion that we were having too much damn fun even without much of an audience.

As we have, in more recent days, begun to notice that we do have an audience (really we do) and they not only like us, some of them like us a lot. This has simultaneously caused us satisfaction, bewilderment, and trepidation.

"In the artist of all kinds I think one can detect an inherent dilemma, which belongs to the co-existence of two trends, the urgent need to communicate, and the still more urgent need not to be found."

-D.W. Winnicott (English psychoanalyst, 1896-1971)

We're strapped in and going along for the ride.

We attempt this profiling of ourselves (for spite and mirth) since we're still, at present, stuck mostly in our metaphorical archetypal garrets. Here, we no longer dream dreamy dreams, but wait instead for visitations of incubi, bearing gifts. What if something startling happens and propels us out of our comfy little underground nest? Will a spotlight, even a brief Warholian 15-minute spotlight, just shrivel us up into dust like Kallisti's mummy friend, George?

"Why do you always get what you want when you want it no more?"
- Tones on Tail

Is success, in reality, a dangerous implosion? Will only one of us be proffered the Diana Ross role and the rest cast aside as Bitter Supremes? Will we die unnoticed with mutilated ears? Will we, oh, will we become a rerun movie-of-the-week played bimonthly on Tuesday afternoons on the Lifetime channel?

I think we'll invent an entirely new dreary archetype for others to concurrently romanticize and fear. We're working on that as we speak and sharpening a few orphaned adverbs to sprinkle on our epitaphs. For us. For you. For posterity. Whatever that is.

{from the chorus: diabolical laughter}


— intro penned by M Bat
on a really overcast day, Jan 2000.