These self portraits were inspired by a recent discovery of Jen Davis's photography. I have always loved self portraits as an avenue for personal reflection and exploration. I usually shy away from the camera unless I am behind it, prefering paint or pencil to capture my reflection...but if I get to dress up like I did when I was a little girl AND I am wielding the camera, I feel quite differently.
Grief is defined as a deep or intense sorrow. I have been thinking a lot about grief, about it's wide and sticky reach, about the watery quality of it's absorption and the agonizing effort of swimming to shore. Intense sorrow happens. It is a part of life. Yet we press against it. We try to eradicate it. How? We encapsulate our grief in a story, thus effectively removing us from the immediacy of the pain. The mind promises salvation and begins to tell a story, over and over and over. We listen to the inner ramblings, the constant diatribe, the neurotic attempt to avoid the experience. When someone is hurting we listen to their story, we talk about it, we recount our own story, but we certainly don't jump in the waters of sadness, instead we sit on the bank of our familiar longing. Once, when I was floundering in deep grief, my youngest brother knelt next to me and held me for over an hour. He didn't speak. He didn't commiserate. He just jumped in the
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Fragrant in it's invitation to enter a hidden world
exotic beauty
like sighting a rare bird
her feathers shimmer
with gold
beauty that laughs and jingles
Woman beauty.