Photograph of the Week

 

 

This is purely accidental. Take a friend, beautiful yet insecure, with a dash of confusion and the product is an awkward lovely. I found a lot filled with leaves, trees, and a rustic, forgotten wood fence held up only by tree limbs and overgrown bush. A prom dress reminiscent of 80s nostalgia with it’s mesh underlay and lace sleeves. A five dollar find at a Goodwill, quite hideous to the eye in person, but I knew the beauty it could have in a photo. With pink pumps and a New Orleans masquerade mask, I thought it could be good compliments in a photo. No reason beyond that. My mind envisioned that it could be aesthetically pleasing, though perhaps an odd coupling. And though this was the most odd pose, I believe her first since she was unsure of her body, it has become my favorite.

The Foot Path

I’ve come to appreciate dirty feet. Strange. Indeed. 

India refused to permit me pure, untainted toes and soles. Never could a bucket shower manage to cleanse the remnants of winding stone and dirt paths. Paths that had been carved from the back of Himalaya, been trekked upon by thousands of feet before mine. The history of foot paths. Stories of all before, and all to come. Dirty feet no longer defined as unclean, but proud symbols of each step taken. Though footprints runaway with wind and water, never does a foot forget the journey. 

My heels are hardened from years of flip flops. How naked and vulnerable a foot can be, but it adapts to its surroundings. No matter if I step fifty paces in a day, each will be adorned with a fresh dusting. Last night, in denial of an empty ink cartridge’s state, I shook photo black noir hoping to jostle enough ink to finish a print. Not only was it unsuccessful, but tiny droplets of black ink sprinkled the carpet. Oblivious to that fact, I walked across the carpet several times before sensing a mild damp feeling. Little black dots stained my feet for the night. I had no urge to wash away the absurdity of ink on feet. 

I think it strange that often dirty feet mean unclean. I’ve read religious texts where feet are used for metaphors for a person’s social status, the bottom of the body, how it is of the earth. Nothing else would I prefer but to be of the earth, be a part of something so real, rather than lay fat and idle on a cloud. 

Dirty can be lovely. Forever it will remind me of the paths taken, by me and strangers alike.

Photograph of the Week

A gift. Beads from around the world, acquired through a friend’s journey. The world on a string, intertwined like kin. Unearthed from a tiny box, I smiled and said it’d be like prayer beads. 

Let me pray…

Photograph of the Week

This is a new series I’m attempting to maintain. Once a week, I’ll post a photograph of mine. My goal is for the photo to be recently taken, but I may need images of the past if I’m unable to photograph or find inspiration. I’m debating on adding details behind the image or just to merely have the image, no words to influence interpretation. For now, I’m going to refrain from telling the narrative of an image’s birth. 

 

Girl at St Michael’s