The Virgin Suicides

A few outtakes from my final major project about a twelve year old girl, Bethany.

A Few Old Polaroids (continued) ...

Fuji FP 100c

A Few Old Polaroids

600

Toddlers & Tiaras

There are a lot things that I get frustrated with and many of them are rolled into this one awful tv show. I couldn't get hold of the embedded code for the video I wanted to show, a mother telling us how it is OK for a seven year old girl to shave her legs because it allows fake tan to go on more evenly! Many of these girls (and even babies) are forced to do beauty pageants against their will and it makes me sick.

I Love Sylvia Plath

Apprehensions

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself---
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.

A gray wall now, clawed and bloody.
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.

This red wall winces continually :
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two gray, papery bags---
This is what I am made of , this and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and a rain of pietas.

On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.
There is no talk of immortality among these!
Cold blanks approach us :
They move in a hurry.

-Sylvia Plath

FUCK YOU TOO

Instead of deciding to write a contextual essay about a pretentious photographer I couldn't care less about, I decided that I will write it on this body of work by Glen E. Friedman and his book arrived in the post today!

(I apologise for the bad images but I don't have my scanner with me!)


I was also happy to find this flyer today from one of the first shows I went to circa 2004/5

Something for the Spring (beautiful words)

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

-Robert Frost