Going Through Glass

This is a journal of images (mostly from New York, but not always) exploring what it means to observe and be observed. How the body is made into a "product" by a culture of surveillance and control: how the body resists, how nature resists, how beauty is resistance. All images are copyright of Kelly Stuart ([email protected]) var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-39620027-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript'; ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();

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The slow dismemberment doesn’t feel bad, until you start to miss parts of yourself. But in the beginning, he keeps you company. Nobody notices.

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My crime was simply that I was a woman.

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And then some things are stripped away but you still see the world as if it’s magic.

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Here’s how you start

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In the beginning you wear your mask, you stand around in the golden light and you have no idea how you will be separated from what you thought was yourself.

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This is how it ended.

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Mother and son on the Polar Express. Coney Island, Wednesday August 3rd 2016

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Coney Island. The loneliness of rollercoasters late at night.

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passing the galata tower on the way to Kadikoy

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ferry to kadikoy on wednesday