Still Life

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