Tuesday, November 23, 2010
empty white dreary and decrepit bathrooms. they speak to me somehow. chipped and rusty fixtures. a loneliness emanating from the sink. floating at the perfect height to lean on, be supported by. and yet repulsive. the most personal of fixtures, passing through generations. faucets that are stiff and unable to open. a green blotch of oxidized rust and a cracked mirror. such a human story.