Saturday, August 21, 2010


Here is a photo of the battered antique doll that I purchased at a flea market in Brooklyn.  It now hangs gleefully (and without the slightest bit of remorse in its expression) in my studio and gives me the tiniest bit of trepidation when I glance up at it.  Could it be a slight case of pediophobia or just a normal response to its crumbling visage? Perhaps I watched the ventriloquist's self-animated dummy in DEAD OF NIGHT one too many times? Hmmm...

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