Bellocq - April 1911
There comes a quiet man now to my room--Papa Bellocq, his camera on his back.He wants nothing, he says, but to take meas I would arrange myself, fully clothed--a brooch at my throat, my white hat angledjust so--or not, the smooth map of my fleshawash in afternoon light. In my roomeverything's a prop for his composition--brass spittoon in the corner, the silvermirror, brush and comb of my toilette.I try to pose as I think he would like--shyat first, then bolder. I'm not so foolishthat I don't know this photograph we makewill bear the stamp of his name, not mine.
--Natasha Trethewey, Bellocq's Ophelia (2002)
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