This is an image by Diane Arbus. William Gedney referred to her as "a small being, physically, always weighted down by her equipment, the necessary burden".
George Szirtes describes her (in a poem) as a girl who …seems to trust everyone and is just a little crazy, just enough to be charming, who walks between fantasy and betrayal, and makes of this a kind of profession. It takes courage to destroy the ledge you stand on, to sit on the branch you saw through.
And there are all kinds of line breaks in there, of course.
This, and the narratives of other artists that are (and who were) similar, make me unbearably happy and unbearably sad at the same time. I can't rightfully explain it, but at some point, I would like to try harder. It is the most knotted, sinewy... bizarre feeling in the world.
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