Still Life

In recent wanderings across parts of Turkey, Greece and Italy, I developed an appreciation for, well, mannequins. They were worn, for certain, but compared to the bland versions found in US storefronts - designed not to distract from the wares on offer - many of these mannequins seemed to have their own story, if not a feeling of despair. Whether plunked down on bustling sidewalks, or unceremoniously dropped from vans for Saturday markets, they kept showing up. Certain mannequins looked through me, holding vacant stares, while others appeared reflective, ready to break from their grim existence, free of shrink wrap and hangers. Some, it appeared, wanted to regain their dignity, maybe get their damaged bodies fixed.