![]() ![]() Therefore, Muñecas Limé (Limé dolls) became Dominican faceless dolls. Each ceramic figure was given a smooth surface without facial features. Her solution gave the dolls their most significant feature. Second, no single face could depict the broad spectrum of Dominican diversity. First, she lacked the necessary tools to define small facial features. Two challenges faced Limé on the potter’s wheel as she set out to depict the beauty of Dominican women in the small, ceramic figures. Over 40 years ago, in 1981, pottery worker Liliana Mera Limé began sculpting small clay dolls in the town of Moca, located in the Cibao region of the Dominican Republic. And suddenly, the light went out.Muñecas Limé, also known as Dominican faceless dolls, are a celebrated handicraft of the Dominican Republic and in Dominican homes. With horror, the man looked on as the soba-man's face became like unto an egg. "Ah." he said, the features in his face melting away into blankness, "Was it by chance anything like this?" Slowly he stroked his chin, and as he did his face began changing. oh, I cannot tell you what she showed me!"Īt this, the soba man began to stroke his own face. I saw a woman by the moat- an she showed me. ![]() "Not robbers, not robbers," gasped the terrified man, "I saw. ![]() "Only scared you?" queried the peddler, unsympathetically, "Robbers, maybe?" "No, nobody hurt me," said the man, wincing, "Only. "Kore, kore, (there, there)" said the soba-man, "What is the matter with you? Anybody hurt you?" The man flung himself down at the feet of the soba-seller, crying out, "Ah! Ahh!" It proved to be the lantern of a late-night soba-seller who had set down his stand by the side of the road. On and on he ran, never daring to look back until at last he saw a lantern, so far away that it looked like the gleam of a firefly, and he made for it. Up Kii-no-kuni-zaka he ran, and all was black and empty before him. She began stroking her face with her hand slowly before him. Where there should have been two eyes, a mouth and a nose, was nothing but a featureless blank of skin as smooth as an egg. Suddenly, the girl turned around and dropped her sleeve from her hand. "O-jochu." he pleaded, "O-jochu, listen to me, just for one moment-" The man felt his heart swell with pity and laid his hand on her shoulder. She continued to moan and sob behind her sleeve, but her cries were slower, more subdued. The girl rose up slowly, turning her back to him. This is no place for a young lady at night! Do not cry, I beg of you! Only tell me how I may help you and I will!" "O-jochu," he said again, as gently as he could, "Please listen to me. Tell me what the trouble is, and if there be any way to help you, I shall do it."īut she continued to weep, hiding her face from him with one of her long sleeves. "O-jochu (young girl)," he exclaimed, approaching her, "O-jochu, do not cry like that. He was a kind man, and pity gripped his heart. As he came closer he saw that she was lithe, handsomely dressed and that her hair was arranged like that of a young girl from a good family. Fearing that she intended to drown herself, he stopped near her to offer his help. She was weeping bitterly and her hands covered her face completely as she heaved forward towards the moat. One night at a late hour, he was hurrying up the Kii-no-kuni-zaka when he saw a woman crouching by the moat all alone. The last man who saw the Mujina was an old merchant of the Kyobashi quarter. It's said that a mujina- a faceless woman- roamed freely there. ![]() On the other side of the road extend the long and lofty walls of an imperial palace.īefore street lamps and rickshaws became commonplace, this neighborhood was very lonely after dark, and belated pedestrians would go miles out of their way to avoid it after sunset. On one side of the slope you see an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high green banks rising up to some place of gardens. On the Akasaka road in Tokyo there is a slope called Kii-no-kuni-zaka, which means the Slope of the Province of Kii. This year's tale is adapted from Lafcadio Hearn's KWAIDAN, a classic book of Japanese ghost stories. Every Halloween we share a scary folktale that's been keeping Japanese children up at night for centuries. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |