Francesca Woodman's work has been an inspiration to me for a long time. After quite a sustained period of - (I don't know what the correct term is) - 'block' in my own creative thinking, I found myself revisiting the work of my favourite artists, going through ancient sketchbooks, and so on; retracing my steps to find another beginning. The feeling was akin to swirling myself into a childhood comfort blanket. At once familiar, and slightly panicking in the sense that I knew things must be bad if I was back here. Each time I look at these photographs though, I am newly in awe at their uniqueness and communicative power. Art critic Kathryn Hixon said of them: "Woodman's pictures are not de-constructive but constructive. She added layers of reflection and mimicry within the photograph to confound the transparent recording of the real. The images become psychological portraits of the identity of the body rather than identifying physical portraits that reveal the psyche." For me, they are a symbolic representation of the famale body and our relationship with it as individuals, when so often images seem concerned with its relationship with other people; as such these images are far removed from voyeurism, but are simultaneously intensely personal reflections and an ongoing series of new encounters of the self.
I'm grateful I'm having some problems, its meant I have this work flitting around in my mind. No bad thing.
The forget me nots are in bloom in the garden too. I've decided to consider the whole day a sign that this is the right way to get moving.
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