Photo by: Nazca Luna at Shadow Emporium Shop, Chicago, Il.
The images of flowers framed in dark secrets faces of women looking into forgotten mirrors at their souls wondering who they are shacks big enough for cowboys to dart through hollywood enhanced concepts of privacy and feminine subtlety of being hidden behind closed doors in the boudoir while the handsome cowboy lingers, a smirk in hand, outside. or at the working studio where hues of colour splash the eyesight before painting which colour was talked about first historically brought up and mentioned before the others was red the first and blue the last in chronology to be mentioned by all cultures and why so, if our sky is blue? why would it be saved for last mention? maybe in your home an ante room by the bathroom a sink washroom with a mirror and a lounging chaise a lazy place for thoughts to smoke up while preparing for the day or for the night or perhaps inside the bathtub or under the shower, an impromptu boudoir of perfect songs in perfect pitch the voice we dream of having in our waking days while strolling into conversations of wit and love daze the boudoir of the CEO her company and megalomania if that is what they’ll call her, incandescent ideas flourishing in the boudoir of the silent space in her mind or so we think until we realize the cameras everywhere the microphones ubiquitous and invisible the not so private boudoir swimming in the soup of business where now business cannot be left out an ingredient too tasty to forget the mystery that hides behind the painting that opens the wall or the telepathy of the seemingless poor person reflects the darkest boudoir in us all a comfort place of flowers drinking water a vase and windows shining sunlight to make the moving shadows of the objects found as still life inmovable while people come and go this is 2016 now the word sounds so old just like the concept of privacy before business and private became entwined forever more but who is to say that all these gadgets that make the boudoir inaccessible to the desire of aloneness are not mere extensions of the capacity of our senses to see and hear with the precise acuteness the expansive knowledge bursting forth from the light essence that we are whether the boudoir and its palette of impressive colours has shaken the hand of technology or not our boudoir remains protected at hand’s distance for us to enjoy the privacy of our thoughts the longing of our dreams the reality of this moment the people we love for without them the boudoir would not need to be.
Photo by: Nazca Luna at Shadow Emporium Shop, Chicago, Il.
