I've been fascinated with Francesca Woodman's photography lately. Most of her work produced between 1972-1980 still feels very modern and fresh, but most of all it invokes an emotional response. Blurred figures and female forms disappearing behind peeled wallpaper or into taxidermy filled cabinets almost seem to warn of her impending suicide at age 22. They almost seem like death rattles or warnings of the emotions she was grappling with and trying to express through her work--because it was highly personal work. Many of her photographs are self-portraits, but a game of hide-and-seek. She is bare, exposed, an imprint of her figure lingering on a dusty ground, yet she moves becoming obscured and hidden--a blur instead of a body. Each photograph really begs for so much attention...
CONVERSATION