When I was a little girl my hair was long, messy and everywhere.
It ran circles around my face, tangling itself in knots as though trying to moor me to the earth like a boat tied to a dock. At dinner hands would gather and twist it, tucking it securely away in the back of my shirt.
My state of being could be read in the lines of my hair.
In the elaborate twisting, braiding and tangling of hair I tell women’s stories.
These portraits illustrate not the stories of individual women, but rather the experiences of every woman. More succinctly, these images tell of the experiences of life- childhood, suffering, heartbreak, joy, death, resilience.
In the lines of her hair read the stories of our lives.