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...
No comments:
Post a Comment