rachel johnston: Deborah Turbeville

Showing posts with label Deborah Turbeville. Show all posts

Monday, 28 October 2013

Deborah Turbeville

I've always loved the shapes Deborah Turbeville caught in the bodies of her subjects.
RIP beautiful Deborah Turbeville.

What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time.

--Virginia Woolf

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Monday, 28 October 2013

Deborah Turbeville

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