Feet on the move on the seafront at Sitges.In the doorway of a butcher's shop, two bull terriers sit, untethered except by discipline. Their attention is concentrated on the interior, where their master, the author of their inhibitions, is shopping. They seem to be straining against their conscience. The smell of flesh and blood from within are tantalizing. The dogs quiver with hope, anticipation, desire.
In the window of a small art gallery in The Pantiles is a life-drawing, stylised, half in profile, twisting away from the viewer at the hip. "Is it a man or woman?" a wife asks her husband in front of the window. I am wondering myself. The breasts are indeterminate, but the hips look feminine enough. "It's pretty obvious, it's a woman," replies her husband knowledgeably and with a hint of scorn: "what are you talking about!"
3 comments:
Especially love the mental image of the dogs.
Androgeny is proving to one of my problems - not in pictures, but in the real world. Time after time I have to ask Mrs BB whether some passing teenager is male or female. The clothes give no clue and that supposedly certain bit of evidence - the width of the wrist - is not always visible. I wondered if this confusion was a function of old age, since I can't recall having any difficulties during what passed for my youth and middle age. Not that it matters much. My life and concerns rarely intersect with those of teenagers, though occasionally I sympathise.
The movement of feet across the Earth is a fabulous subject for photography. Here the rhythm of walkers seems to be collective, a human tendency - reputedly one of the reasons why the Millenium Bridge swayed as crowds flowed over it on the day of its opening.
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