Watched The Woodmans … Recognized the urgency in my own work…
…thoughts of purpose and intent. Francesca Woodman’s art connects with my writing in the shadows of words. Sound as silhouette against paper.
Her works always found the truth.
All things vulnerable, direct, and fragile.
My favorite of her images from the Rome series:
Self-deceit 1
And my poem focused on the work – published in FRiGG:
The Artist Alone
Self-Deceit, Rome, 1978–1979
She crawls a maze of cold and damp to the very edge of familiar. All truth is blurred. Leaning against the wall, the mirror, more in place than out, is how she looks at her real hand—if those are the best words—as if she doesn’t remember why she’s come—all sinew and shade, soft curve of the hip, a bit done for—or why her hand has lived its life and she has lived hers, lost in the hard ruins, unwilling to stop until she disappears into that other Rome, slick with rain and more time than could ever be needed.
These walls are no match for her. She hides because there’s nothing left. She turns away her face, her motion a haze to silence, her breath a fragile wing of air.
sam of the 10,000 things 
I was able to catch glimpses of the documentary earlier tonight, and hope to see all of it soon. One thing I couldn’t help but notice was the typical fear/shame of the nude body, as even her photos displaying just the side of an uncovered female breast were blurred or pixilated at strategic spots. I just don’t understand most of American society…
PBS’ role in airing the film does reflect the fear/shame you mention Psilomelane. I agree.
What I get most from Woodman’s images themselves, I think, is fragility. Almost every time. Something fragile, something broken. Beautiful settings with such an appealing darkness and space. I can’t turn away.
“She turns away her face, her motion a haze to silence, her breath a fragile wing of air.” – Beautiful poem.
Thanks, Anna. I’m glad the piece works for you.