The Ages · A gallery through time
The Ages of Adeline
The Hours measure an evening. Until Morning measures a night. The Ages measure something longer. I have spent years noticing how many kinds of woman get called beautiful after dark, and how rarely any of them is the one holding the pen. So each season I take on another, from the beaded hush of the twenties to a goddess out of older stories, and let the camera find me in it. I already know which century suits me best. That one is coming last.
One woman.
A great many centuries of evenings.
In preparation
The first Age is being made.
A gallery like this is worth doing slowly. The first collection is in the studio now; when it is ready it will appear here, and a note in the Journal will tell you which century I have been keeping company in. Until then, The Mirror is me as I am this evening.
The gallery grows; the woman is real
Every Age is still me. Write to that one.
A date, the hours, the city. Whichever century I am dressed in this season, the evening itself is entirely present tense.
The costumes change. The company does not.