When I set myself to research the representation of the female genitalia in the art world, I was ready to find obstacles. It is nothing new that the topic is taboo and it has been for a long while in the Western world. So, my expectations were low.
Littered with weak character construction, plot holes and a predictable story arch, the only ominous alley that Nightmare Alley encounters is that of its directorial origins.
Placed in front of the window representing the sanctioned union of love between the god of love and human, Amor and Psyche,
Love and death, eroticism and abolition; two entities, two conflicting symbols that nevertheless always find each other throughout time in order to form a contrasting, fervent couple.
If you are not listening to anything, put on a song that you like. A calm one. Maybe some smooth jazz. Maybe a waltz.
At first glance, it appears true beauty always eluded Edith Piaf. At just one and a half metres in height, with the slight figure of a waif, the French chanteuse was never acclaimed for her looks, and her 28 year career never rested on visual glamour.
A new year is coming along and it got me thinking. You know, the usual “what am I thankful for?”. Pretty cliché, but this year has been such a rough one, so why not ask myself?
These days, most of us have more time to ourselves than ever before. In line with the constant ebb and flow of lockdown restrictions, an increasing number of waking minutes are accompanied by screens, and their vices.
Glasses of wine in hands, we were hanging in my student bedroom, talking about beauty. Beauty. A word that has been philosophized about so many times.
I sometimes forget to appreciate the beauty of the body I live in but was reminded recently when I folded my ankle