Looking through old photos today, I was struck perhaps for the the first time with the weight of time on my work. A small weight surely, but detectable nonetheless. The images no longer simply had a set of feelings and memories and colors that were nearby, but they now have the sense of being from another era.
Now when I look at these photos of Missy from the summer of 2011 (it was an oven-hot Chicago weekend), I blush anew because of the distance. Her cherry-red lips are somehow even more provocative; her yellow girdle (the one I saw in her room and begged her to wear) is somehow even more surprising.