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@idkflowergirlsetc
Bakandamiya: An Elegy, Saddiq Dzukogi
Mammal in a Sunday Dress, by Georgina M. Cox, 2026
Mammal in a Sunday Dress explores the uneasy relationship between femininity, civilisation, and the animal body. At first glance, the figure appears modest and withdrawn. Her posture is composed, her gaze seemingly lowered towards her bare feet, recalling the conventions of nineteenth-century portraiture where women were often depicted as passive objects of observation. Yet as the viewer moves closer, the illusion collapses. Her eyes are not lowered at all. She is looking directly back. The delayed eye contact transforms the encounter. The viewer approaches believing they are safely observing a woman; instead, they realise they have been observed themselves. The work refuses the traditional power dynamic of portraiture, denying the comfort of anonymous spectatorship. Looking becomes a reciprocal act. For Cox, the painting considers humanity's persistent desire to separate itself from the rest of the animal kingdom. The title quietly undermines this distinction. A "mammal" is not another creature—it is us. The Sunday dress, rich with cultural associations of femininity, morality, and respectability, becomes an attempt to distinguish ourselves from nature. Yet clothing cannot alter biology. Beneath lace and ritual remains the same vulnerable animal body. The work also reflects on the historical relationship between women and nature. Across art, religion, and philosophy, women have repeatedly been positioned as closer to instinct, emotion, reproduction, and the body itself, while men have been aligned with reason, culture, and civilisation. Mammal in a Sunday Dress does not reject this comparison. Instead, it questions why proximity to nature has so often been treated as something lesser. Chiaroscuro isolates the figure within darkness, allowing the luminous dress to symbolise the performance of civilisation while the bare feet quietly return the body to the earth. Neither is presented as more truthful than the other. The painting exists in the tension between performance and instinct, refinement and biology. Mammal in a Sunday Dress ultimately asks a simple but unsettling question: if every layer of culture were stripped away, what would remain? Not a king. Not a saint. Not a gentleman or a lady. Only another mammal, looking back.
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Some pages from my book of pressed flowers
Sara Torres, from her novel titled "X Is Where I Am," orginally published in March 2026
rain³
Sunrise sparkle, early August 2018
But I do feel strange—almost unearthly. I’ll never get used to being alive. It's a mystery. Always startled to find I've survived.
John Steinbeck, Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters
"I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.
They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle,
and have no closets or cupboards, and have no legs. Still I would like to be as wonderful
as the old idea. But if I were a lily I think I would wait all day for the green face
of the hummingbird to touch me. What I mean is, could I forget myself
even in those feathery fields? When Van Gogh preached to the poor of coarse he wanted to save someone--
most of all himself. He wasn't a lily, and wandering through the bright fields only gave him more ideas
it would take his life to solve. I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river--
where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues-- where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss, just rises and floats away." Mary Oliver, Lilies
“Really, when I look back on it, I did exactly what I had set out to do. I changed my life. I woke myself up. I rediscovered passions of every variety. I forced myself to take a little time. I found a way to bring some of who I used to be into who I was.”
— Katherine Center, Everyone is Beautiful (via simply-quotes)
María Casares, from a letter to Albert Camus, featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959
“I caved and decided it will be joy from now on. Then everything opened. The lights blazed around me into a white weather and I was lifted, wet and bloody, out of my mother, screaming and enough.”
Not Even This by Ocean Vuong
Anne Sexton, from a letter featured in Anne Sexton; A Self-Portrait In Letters
Kurt Vonnegut, from Mother Night; "Chapter Six Hundred & Fourty Three,"
Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959
The Feather Fairy (1985)
Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Gordon Lameyer written c. 1953, featured in The Collected Letters