Usually I put the photo first. But there are three photos, that I took at the same time and in the same place, and somehow I find myself wanting to speak first. And yet, while part of me thinks there's so much to say about them, another part wants to let them speak for themselves. I find them poignant, annoying, amusing, appalling. Looking at them, I feel the kind of sadness that makes me want to shy away from the instigation of that sadness.
Okay, so what is it then?
I think they look unloved.
Their need to be freed from the supermarket, taken home to be loved by some family until their seams pop or they fade from the sun or the chlorine gets to them, looks so real.
I know they're not real. I know they can't feel.
But what if real isn't the point?
Okay, so what is it then?
I think they look unloved.
Their need to be freed from the supermarket, taken home to be loved by some family until their seams pop or they fade from the sun or the chlorine gets to them, looks so real.
I know they're not real. I know they can't feel.
But what if real isn't the point?
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