by Lauren Westerfield

"Nude, Belgravia." Bill Brandt. 1951.

“Nude, Belgravia.” Bill Brandt. 1951.

I’m setting out to write about the body: its subtlety, grotesquery and power. About aesthetics: texture and style, the play of the light. About how these things bring me, and possibly even us, closer to finding an identity–or perhaps to relinquishing the very notion of “identity” all together.

Mostly, I write essays. On physicality and memory. On origins and insides. On the body’s rhythms, traumas and transcendent moments. Essays exploring my attachment to beauty, both within and upon and beyond my flesh–beauty in objects, spaces and things. I’ve found myself trying to write a piece about myself and ending up, again and again, with a piece about my mother. Or a piece about my legs, their whiteness; or my hair, its sheen, its eccentricities. I’ve found myself getting inspired by the contents of my body, and equally inspired by the contents of my handbag.

This is a place for proposing connections. Indulging desires. Exploring the insides of things.