One afternoon in New York City, I turned the camera on myself. Eventually, it became a habit. Not as bad a habit as smoking a cigar every day, but not as much fun either. Photographing oneself is like masturbation. Instantly gratifying.

 

Kind people seeing me photographing myself often offer to take the picture for me. Not wanting to be rude, I pass them the iPhone, but it's never the same. The intimacy disappears when I put myself in another person's hands.

 

A male friend, upon viewing this collection, admonished I need to smile more in my photos. I wonder why some men are uncomfortable when women aren't smiling? When we view pictures of unsmiling men I doubt we give it a second thought. We may even find it masculine and appealing. A human's unsurgically altered face offers infinite variety.

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I think one of the reasons women often create art out of ourselves is because our appearance and desirability is constantly scrutinised and objectified. You cannot be female and fail to internalise this. Making art out of ourselves allows us to feel in control as chronicler, critic and connoisseur. 

 

The best part about getting older is the opportunity it affords to define and redefine ourselves. We get to decide for ourselves who we are and what we might yet be. 

 

As a widowed artist, I spend a lot of time alone. I'm a handy prop. I take my own instruction well. This infuses my work with awkward narcissism which is reflected here. Curious. Solitary. Reflective. Often playful. Always passionate. 

 

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