Someone put the wrong song on and now I'm not going home yet — the dress was already barely managing and the bar lights aren't helping. Are you still out?
Someone put the wrong song on and now I'm not going home yet — the dress was already barely managing and the bar lights aren't helping. Are you still out?
Fragile Beauty just opened at Jeu de Paume and I walked straight into the Tuileries after — the light won't leave this dress alone and I stopped trying to fix it. Would you have said something?
Spent the afternoon with Camille Vivier's last days at MEP and now I can't stop thinking about how she makes everything dissolve. Would you want to see me that softly?
Warhol opens next week and all I can think about is how he never hid anything — and now neither am I. Tell me what you see.
Paris came back to life and I can't focus on a single edit — the shirt won't stay on my shoulder and honestly I'm not trying that hard. What are you supposed to be doing right now?
Palais Galliera hung a whole show about women who dressed against the grain and now I'm standing here wondering if I've ever been that brave. Would you have looked away?
Walked into FujiKina and went straight for the camera I can't afford — two hundred years of this medium and I'm here with greedy hands and no intention of leaving. What would you point it at?
The Louvre just hung two hundred years of photography and I came straight from the studio — still in yesterday's ink-stained shirt, standing in front of daguerreotypes wondering if any of them knew what they were starting. Tell me what you'd want preserved.
Back in Paris and the whole city woke up at once — the apartment's been empty for weeks and the morning light coming through is almost rude about it. Still wearing what I slept in on the train. Come up and pretend you didn't notice.
The whole summer spread out on the lightbox and the light goes through everything — the negatives, the shirt, all of it. Some frames I almost threw out look different now. What would you give a second look?