Women I Don’t Know
Beautiful brave ladies. Snow with bare legs but it’s probably nothing for them. They remind me of me and my two sisters or my mom and her two sisters. The fur is gorgeous - I wonder if it is a family heirloom now.
Growing up the house was full of instant relatives - antique photos of strangers we never knew but often gave names and fantastical back stories. Sometimes there was a little text on the back, in that unreadable old time cursive, but never enough to form a whole image.
This is one of the many practices my mother passed to me - gravitating to old photos. Provenience long gone before they reached the thrift store I don't remember buying them at. I have spent hours in stores staring at these faces and wondering about their lives. I wish I could give homes to them all.
There’s not enough walls in a home to cover with every lost picture - so I must restrain. I adopt who I gravitate too - photos of women. Small groups of women, large groups of women, old, young, climbing a mountain, standing on a beach - just living.
Every face has a different story. Why are these ladies having tea? Why is there one child? The seem mid laugh and I want to know what was so funny. If only a photo could spill the tea.
These are some of the women that live in my home.
Photos of women living their everyday lives - alone or together - and enjoying it. My “relatives” leave a reminder that a joyful life is an act of feminism. A life well lived and well loved is feminism. I respect these ladies and I hope they were respected in life.
Fresh out of church? Friends or family? They don’t seem to be particularly keen at the beach. Do you think they went in the water? Who took the photo - look at their shadow captured in the sand.
I have had to consider if they are worth admiring. After all, these photos were given away. Maybe the family couldn’t stand their sight, maybe the state tossed them when she was taken to prison.
I can’t consider it for long - families lose pieces of our history. All I can do is provide a good home for a lost ghost. I probably have relatives out there too, relics of family so long gone I don't know their names, cursive scribbled on the back by someone who is my history - I hope they have a steward for their ghost. It could be you.
The sign above the window says “COUNTRY STORE.” What was she looking at inside? Who built this? Where is it? Can I go inside?
The black sand beaches of Hawaii are still recognizable. The air was probably lovely. I respect that she had no shame asking for a photo and posing stunningly. I wonder what brought her to the islands; relaxing, escaping, falling in love?
