her kind.

one of the things that attracts me to art & literature is an 'otherness,' an odd quality that is akin to "realness" but slightly off, stranger.

i especially love to find this element coupled with works that explore identity, i.e. when a face is obstructed, unseen. this marriage provokes an unsettling feeling that just hypnotizes me. here, heidi yardley uses this device to much success, a face is swathed in manicured hair while another wears a meat like mask.

most uncanny to me is the last one, a face turned away, staring into a blank landscape of nothing, jewel-like lesions growing on her neck like a fever. so much of what's going on here feels akin to my days lately, patiently waiting for the winter to lift & vanish like smoke, moods shifting and bordering on the down-right gloomy.