Does my body offend strangers? Do they find me repulsive in my mirror? Would they stomp my body, but keep the gilt frame? Would they harken like censorious morning larks to come s***h me, in the do-good morning? Would they l**t for the machete? Yearn lustily for the knife? Ache to put the point in my belly? Be ashamed that I show myself?
Vivienne Pink was alone, lying back on the bed in the quiet fur of secrets everybody has. In her hand, a postcard of a n***d woman from the back. La Venus del Espejo. Venus at Her Mirror. Vivienne loved the look of women’s bodies especially. She loved how relaxed the Venus was, admiring herself.
Vivienne had taken self-portraits all through her camerawork. To show, eventually, maybe. Not to give others a record of where she was, what she was doing, as
