Last weekend, while we were flouncing about in a disused pub garden and posing against graffiti walls for pictures, the urchin nabbed my smartphone and recorded a little picture diary of her own. This is what I like to imagine was going through her mind…
‘Today I’m matching bold polka-dotted leggings with a spotted doll’s pram (£7.99, Argos). As Coco Chanel tells us: “In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different”. She left us too soon. #Wisdom.’
‘How will it affect me in later life, to recall all those times my mother undressed in pub gardens to pose against graffiti walls? Only my therapist will ever truly know.’
‘I mean, look at her. She looks like someone who stalks maternity wards in search of an unguarded newborn to spirit away in an Aldi carrier bag.’
‘Fingers over the lens are a central tenet of my ouvre’.
‘I call this one Glimpses of Existence: the adult humans deny their situation and yet cannot look away, they peek through their fingers at the lives before them. I’ve really thought it through and it’s very clever’.
‘Well aren’t we quite the “art director”? If he starts wearing a monocle, I’m moving out. And what is it with the disco thumbs, you goon?’
‘The loose shirts aren’t fooling anyone, porky. Have some self respect.’
‘This was my experimental phase. A period I called Still Movement. It is over now, as we all will be soon’.
