a collective blog by indigenous women photographers
I remember going to visit the Olympic torch in a small town somewhere, can’t remember. I pretended to reach the torch, but I never actually touched it, oh well.
I think one of the reasons I've had a fascination with documenting with photographs is because I have no photographs from my childhood. I have seen less than a handful of baby pictures of myself.
I’ve always taken pictures. My earliest memory holding a camera I was five. I remember the feel of the cold chrome and smooth black leather and the hefty weight of it in my hands. It felt like a fragile brick. I remember my eye looking through the view finder and the satisfactory “click” I heard… Continue reading Darkroom, bright light
So me, with my pale skin and wavy hair, I didn’t fit the ideal they held in their head. The warrior. The stoic. The maiden. The headdress and the pony.
