portrait of my mother

this is a portrait of my mother.











a roman nose, she says.



i just know that i didn't
inherit that particular feature of my mother's profile.


i find beauty in any old imperfection. after all, whose skin really is flawless, without a fold or wrinkle, blemish or disgrace? portrait photographs should expose these imperfections, without shame. in this way, the camera does not lie. never be afraid of your photograph. i believe we should all accept our portraits without complaint, as the lens sees fit.





mother of people, mother of earth, womb and seed and birth-giver, life-offerer; the carrier of the divine-formed bud, deliverer of humanity, she gives us safe passage into a foreign oxygen-rich place, oh, how could i forget, she ensures my first breath of air?



she is the bearer of unborn life, appointed woman, keeper of chastity.

the severance of the umbilical cord cuts their blood-bond, but her blood still runs in his veins (in his veins). from this moment she'd die for him.

she'd rather go hungry to save the child.

rather, she'd die to let him live.





mother, madonna, your grace is my fortitude.