In her Dada Poem Wedding Dress, Lesley Dill presents one of her enigmatic paper dresses, stamped with an image of a real biological heart (a votive) amongst black letters (Dada-style, in that the varied size and boldness of the typography suggest sound), which spell out what is only implied in Hawarden's corseted dresses: Dickinson's "The Soul has Bandaged Moments". A dip at the waist gives way to a body (there and not there), with the words "MOMENTS OF ESCAPE." Up and down the sleeves, letters straight and reversed (looking-glass-style) puff out and suck in the heaves and sighs of "THE SOUL HAS BANDAGED MOMENTS." The tight fit of the dress's bodice, coupled by its impossible wedding-dress train, gathers paper whispers of inescapable dirt and tears yet to come. This "aloof beauty" can do nothing more than wait for her dirt to be collected, wait for the rips to mar her perfection. Loose threads tangle their way off the skirt's hem and at the wrists–inviting the shredding, the ruining yet to take place. They catch me in pain with each inconceivable step, with each unforgiving gesture, like tendrils of hair caught on an unfastened hook and eye. Minuteness is all.