I find myself surrounded with like-minded women. They're an eclectic group of gals who've been my friends for years. We're a close knit group - I strip down to my knickers in front of them every day. They are the lovely ladies who line the walls of my dressing room.
Framed ink drawings, ceramic busts, old postcards, a needlepoint portrait, a charcoal nude, photographs and more; all images of women that I've found compelling.
Of course they're secondhand sirens. From flea markets, garage sales, Ebay, car boots and of course charity shops I've tracked down these highly decorative dollies.
Like mirrors, the images reflect the me I see and the me I wish I could be. My girls remind me that beauty is an expansive word, its permutations endless.
Faces from places far and wide, the girls mark my travels. I remember the estate sale in Washington DC, the secondhand shop in Florida, the window in Antwerp, the auction house in Chelsea, the antiques barn in Ohio, the roadside stall in Harare. From high art to cast offs, they are the company I keep.
From my dressing room, a self-important name for the room wear I dress, these lovely ladies wish me well. At day break do I hear them remind me I'm special, so special...
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