«Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word
and was buried at the cross–roads still lives.
She lives in you and in me, and in many
other women who are not here to–night,
for they are washing up the dishes and putting
the children to bed. But she lives;
for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences;
they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh.»
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
(Work in progress)
For some time I have researched the history of women in my family through photographs and their stories. In this process, in addition to recognizing myself in their physical traits and creating a generational link, I have noticed that many had artistic concerns that they never developed. This series is a tribute to the women who gave me life and an evocation of the ideas that they left in mind.