always thinking about isabelle adjani in possession 1981.
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All the Beauty and the Bloodshed 2022
I’ve been an admirer of Nan Goldin’s work for a number of years. I’d see her photography online, and before I had a name to attach to the work, I’d find myself being drawn to these beautifully messy and transgressive images. Then I’d look down and see the phrase, ‘photograph by Nan Goldin’. It got to the point where I could easily spot Nan’s pictures in a line-up, could feel her hand taking the photograph, see through her eyes for…
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Licorice Pizza 2021
There’s a shot of Alana, sitting, smoking (maybe a cigarette, maybe a joint) and lamenting her life choices, "do you think it’s weird… it is weird"—first a question, then a statement (she always says everything twice). It’s beautifully backlit, soft focus, magic hour; the image both novel and classic. It feels like Altman’s camera discovering the mercurial presence of Sissy Spacek and Shelley Duvall in 3 Women. The 1970s lives proudly on the screen.
Alana is on the precipice of…
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Juliet in Paris 1967
I imagine I'm reading way too far into this, but the last line makes me think about the blood as a metaphor for mental illness in women, and/or women’s pain not being taken seriously if a physical cause cannot be found. Psychotherapy was hell for women in the 1950s, and even into the 1960s, women’s wellness was so intrinsically tied to the perception of them as homemakers and beacons of motherhood and fertility, that generally, the very thing that was…
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