daisies & eyeliner

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It’s my thirteenth summer at camp. I started as a camper way back in 2003, as a rising fourth-grader who had yet to get her first haircut. Since then, my whole life has boiled down to one microcosmic week each year. Every June, I enter my fishbowl. Every June, our family gets a little closer and a little stranger.

I’ve made most of my best friends here. We’ve swum upstream through the counselor-in-training program and become fully fledged authorities, lording over the tiny brats like we swore we’d never do. Such is the way of the world.

I managed to extricate myself for a few minutes yesterday to take photos down by the pond. If the facilities are mediocre (I’m convinced my bed will give me herpes), the landscape more than compensates.

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the witch & the sprite: madonna edition

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I really love Madonna themes. The iconography is so lush, so blatantly defiant of the Second Commandment, that it’s easy to see the pagan roots of Abrahamic traditions. The Blessed Virgin is just another permutation of female divinity. She’s Baubo and Oshun and Persephone and the Morrigan alike.

This, right here, is why I’m a religious studies major. We all need to be part of something. Why not hitch yourself to such auspicious debauchery?

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the frizz

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So it’s been a while. I wish I had a reason, but my lady-brain just can’t come up with one. I think I go through one of these phases every few months: I’m more interested in living than in documenting. It always cycles back. I still go through life with a photographer’s eye – I’m just more content, at the moment, to let things pass than to shutter them immortal. I’ve been doing a lot of writing, and that seems to be where my creative impulses are gathering at the moment.

I took these photos…I dunno, two weeks ago? Yikes. This is one of those dresses I’ve had for ages but never bothered to share. It’s a Ms. Frizzle dress if there ever was one. And I’ve wanted to be Valerie Frizzle since before I could talk.

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deep thoughts at the shelburne museum

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  • It would be so easy to accidentally-on-purpose get locked in here and spend the night in a tiny Victorian bed. And hunt for ghosts. And see if the wine in the apothecary bottles is real.

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  • How does one get hired as a living statue? I could rock that. Give me a period dress and a huge hat and I’ll go around turning up my nose at everything and saying “indeed” super sneeringly.

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  • This is what we in the industry call “pastoral as fuck”.

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