I adore how she carries his head low, at her side, and not aloft in triumph. This is not a self-aggrandizing hero lauding her great deed. This is a woman who wanted to be left the fuck alone.
Also look at her body. The double hips. The asymetrical boobs. She’s thin, but she’s realistic as hell. That’s a real woman.
And the look in her eyes. Damn.
I originally saw photos of Garbati’s Medusa a long time ago, but I specifically remember this post from earlier this year. Medusa was one of those pieces that really buried into my head and heart. Sounds silly, but just looking at it gives me strength.
Today I was lucky enough to see it in person. She’s incredible. And, something that the original pictures don’t show— she’s HUGE!
there are many things I did not enjoy about being a crow, of course. having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules…so many rules! but simply being an assassin? i like it just fine.
“It happened late Friday night. That morning no one suspected anything. I sent my son to school, my husband went to the barber’s. I’m preparing lunch when my husband comes back. “There’s some sort of fire at the nuclear plant,“ he says. "They’re saying we are not to turn off the radio.” I forgot to say that we lived in Pripyat, near the reactor. I can still see the bright-crimson glow, it was like the reactor was glowing. This wasn’t an ordinary fire, it was some kind of emanation. It was pretty. I’d never seen anything like it in the movies. That evening everyone spilled out onto their balconies, and those who didn’t have them went to friend’s houses. We were on the ninth floor, we had a great view. People brought their kids out, picked them up, said, “Look! Remember!” And these were people who worked at the reactor – engineers, workers, physics instructors. They stood in the black dust, talking, breathing, wondering at it. People came from all around on their cars and their bikes to have a look. We didn’t know that death could be so beautiful. Though I wouldn’t say that it had no smell – it wasn’t a spring or an autumn smell, but something else, and it wasn’t the smell of earth. My throat tickled, and my eyes watered.”
—
Nadezhda Vygovskaya, evacuee from the town of Pripyat; Monologue About What We Didn’t Know: Death Can Be So Beautiful; Voices from Chernobyl (Svetlana Alexievich)
this paragraph. this paragraph won’t leave me alone.
