Posts tagged portraiture
Untitled Selves

There were times I imagined myself a Nietzschean character, watching death do its dirty work—at least as it played out in ICUs and the dementia wards where ninety-year-old women played with dolls and screamed about concentration camps. But all I really managed was to keep my eyes open and take notes. I paid attention out of a shopworn sense of filial duty, exhausted curiosity, and because it dawned on me that there might be a vein worth mining in all this. Artists—I've imagined myself one of those too—can be monsters.

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Everything Will Be Forgotten

A couple of years after finding the photos of my mother, I found more old photographs—small beaten up prints. They show me as a child, maybe four years old, standing naked in a bathtub. My father—it must have been my father—had taken them over half a century ago.  

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