Tatiana Geruvosa's Vogue Italia Photos of Papusza Couture

I recently had the pleasure of having some garments from my new collection of bridal wear shot by talented LA-based photographer Tatiana Gerusova. I was excited to learn last week that the photos of my white french net bridal wrap where approved by Vogue Italia-super exciting! Please see the photos below and stay tuned for more photos of my bridal wear by Tatiana from another shoot.

Custom Halloween Costumes by Papusza

Hello lovelies! As you know Halloween is just a little over a month from now, and if you are as excited about the festivities as I am then I am sure you have already started thinking about your costumes. For those of you that need custom made costumes-or simply don't have time to shop and find all the perfect pieces to complete your ensemble-I am happy to offer you my services. I am available to make you something special to set your costume uniquely apart and/or offer my services as a stylist and personal shopper if you don't have the time in your busy schedule to put together your dream Halloween look. Please feel free to email me if you have questions or want more details kaytee@papuszacouture.com. From past years...

Above photo by Kylie Faye of Bloody Swan and Bloody Crow

Aunty Entity

Peter Pan

Above Photo by Raymond Haddad of Narcissister as Siamese Marie Antionette

Red Queen

See more here.

Papusza's Muses

So many beautiful girls to dress... In so many places, with so little time... Here are some shots of some of my favorite ladies looking incredible whilst rocking my wears. Enjoy! Xx New York City Rachel Singer-Nightlife Personality and Fashion Stylist

Ali Luminescent-Performer, Acrobat and Artist

Jacey Exo-Model and Fluffy head

Michaeline Sexton-Actress and Model

Miami Ashley Garner-Fashion Editor, Photographer and Blogger

LA (Lost Angeles) Mika Mae-Writer, Artist, Model and Stylist (First 3 Photos by Ali Scarpulla. Last 2 Photo by Magdalena Olak.)

Annie Su-Artist, Model and Designer.

Washington Caitin Stickels-Model, Artist and Writer

San Francisco

Blue Blooded Butterfly Massacre

There's been a butterfly massacre inside my belly. I can feel their guts, all blue and smearing into my guts-which I also think are blue. Obsessive lil butterfly bits that started to slip away from me bout the time I left New York. Slipped away and started going backwards... how did I become like this? Dazed, back in the California sunshine, it's little golden rays painted my skin blindingly, like alabaster ignited snow in winter light. Riding a bicycle, wearing a lil dress and pale blue french underwear, wind in my hair, reflecting wine colored light, catching golden rays like prisms in the sea visioned orbs of my eyes. As I rode I stood and shifted my weight, in turn with changing traffic lights-green to yellow to red-a monarch fluttered towards me, through the wind onto my pale ignited skin. Delicate in flight, the lil wings flashed yellow and red-like traffic lights-splattered with inky spots of black and blue... blue like my guts, blue like the butterfly massacre swallowed deep down inside my belly. When the lights shifted back to green and I continued to ride I could only assume the monarch continued in it's gentle harmonious flight into the sunny luster of the dazed California afternoon. As I moved above the turning spokes of my wheels, free and airy, I felt the dry chalky matter of the blue little butterfly wings start to creep up my throat, and choke me, suffocating. I could taste the little guts coming back into me, and I could feel something hot and wet between my legs... a pain cramped inside my tummy. In that moment a could have sworn a butterfly massacre melted out from between my thighs, blue, delicate, warm and insect clumped; a devil's abortion of sorts. When I got to the lake in that warm golden afternoon light and dropped my bike into the grass I let my body fall beside it, and felt the stains of fresh cut grass soaking, staining into my elbows and the backs of my thighs. I looked down at my legs-now suddenly covered in blue bruises as if the guts where miraculously staining the outside of my skin. I felt between my legs where a wet spot saturated my panties, in the same spot I would bleed. I slipped them off and looked down at the sky colored, silk threaded material... and found the delicate gossamer woven wings of a monarch-broken and fragmented in corpsey black bits of butterfly gut and blood, slowly becoming chalky. The strangest part was when I reached down and touched the blood it become blue, upon brushing my fingertips. Still to this day a faint blue stain remains upon my fingertips, and pale blue butterfly-shaped bruises like guts paint my legs... the truth is, that really, I don't ever wanna wash them off.

Asphyxia's Ghost Couture Installation at The Drowned Ball, NYC 4/21

I am excited to debut a new couture apparatus this week, which I created for a couple of special events in NYC. The piece is called Asphyxia's Ghost and is inspired by the beauty of the sunken Titanic, with accents of British, and influences of the late McQueen. If you will be in New York this weekend and would like to see the public debut of the piece please come to the Drowned Ball. Stay tuned for pictures.

Life Outside NY Part 8: Ghosttownloverland

The first half of my winter was painted brilliant with the sting of salty waves and skies painted vivid shades of ombre sunset and star belly. I found myself, again, as a Sea Gypsy... the ocean spoke to me in a way she hasn't in many years. In that language that she speaks she reminded me of how small-yet powerful-I truly am when placed beside the threshold of her beautiful mass. I found a muse in her again.

The second half of the chapter that comprises this dark season is one that is filled with the most beautifully haunted ghosts I have ever known. Ghosts and heavy lucid dreams. I am materializing their voices into existence in a new collection of dresses. I have been spending time with them in my urban sanctuary of lost solitude often. Many nights you will find me on a bicycle prowling the streets of West Oakland, searching for them beneath the exquisitely emaciated decay of broken old factories, and the high whistling notes of crackheads crippled hustle. I am in love with them, these beautiful ghosted dreamers that no one else but me can seem to see. Sometimes they come inside of me, give me a little chill, but they are always delicate and kind.

I have been to many ghost towns this season. In my dreams and my waking life. Sometimes they pour themselves into my sleep, and lick my spine with their icy whispers, asphyxiating me in their vividly haunting stories-gorgeous and horrific all at once. Sometimes I crawl inside their cold and broken buildings, in search of something, but I'm not quite sure what... perhaps some new inspiration. Perhaps some alternate reality where I will find an obscured parallel of myself from the past. All I know is that the ghosts know things the rest of us don't. The beautiful abandoned spaces they occupy have stories that words will never, ever be capable of telling.

I guess through all of this brilliant suffocation of exploring the otherworlds, I've come to understand the phrase "life after death" in a new light-one which is shrouded in the most intoxicatingly beautiful opacity I've ever been lucky enough to drown in.