I chose this photograph for portraits because it demonstrates a half-body experimental portrait. The subject is laid on her back, peering into the camera with eyes so void of any mirth that there must be no word other than desolate to describe them. This wooden floor is her grave: her hair a garden, pushing up daisies between the dried grassy tendrils. She has lain here so long that one could not tell where the garden ends and humanity begins; where the floor remains just a floor, and not the slow binding of a woman to an ending.
(This is an old photograph.)
I chose this photograph because it depicts a candid, nearly full-body portrait. A woman weeding in the garden; her husband's motorcycle behind her. A son's car out of frame; a child right behind it. The sidewalk we have walked on. The tail end of our street pole. A driveway, driveway, driveway, fissures full of memories. The snowflake blanket. Your freckled arms. Hope.
The dandelions are too much for us this year.
(This is a new photograph.)
