So far I haven't seen any underwear. A plethora of linens, tunics, sweaters and trousers but no underwear.
My newest project is the study of laundry and fabric and the people who wear the lines of clothes hanging. I've been taking pictures of...you guessed it, the lines of laundry. Dryers aren't very popular. Energy conservation is. I get it. But where do they dry the underwear. This is my quest. Unmentionables. Unshowables.
My new fascination/obsession/photographation with laundry--fabric--the people behind the laundry and fabric teleports me to a time when my grandmother folded linen like a heart surgeon. Each crease placed exactly where it should be and no fabric ever bleeding upon another. Oftentimes I was her assistant. I stood at one corner of the room and she on the other to fold comforters and sheets. Something about the way the comforter did a whisper-yell when we shook it to make it straight stained my eardrums. In a good way. Laundry makes me think of love. Of warm beds. Of summers and garden tomatoes. But still...wheres the underwear?