Meri's Musings

I called this piece Post No Handbills. I've seen signs that say something similar posted on subway walls, on sides of buildings, on upright surfaces like telephone poles or fences. Those signs are most often accompanied by posters and handbills galore. One memorable place that images on top of images  had collected, some ripped back in places until there was a glorious collage saluting commercial and protest art, was on the wall of London's Tube. I stopped to take a photo of one enticing spontaneous collage. . .  much to the embarrassment of my son, who thought I was crazy for taking a pic of a dirty wall in the Underground. Some Moms are like that. Underground art.

It's self-portrait Wednesday again. I almost decided not to do a self-portrait piece today, because I had enough of cameras capturing my soul. You see, yesterday, I finally broke down and went to the offices of the upscale dating service I'd joined in order to do the photo shoot and video segment they mandate with memberships, a way of preventing false advertising, or more to the point: bait and switch. So the photographer clicked away and I tilted my head and showed my teeth and tried to look fetching and dazzling. The whole time I was thinking, "How demeaning. . . to be reduced to advertising just to find a date." Don't get me wrong. Mary did a fabulous job. The final four photos we agreed upon are wonderful, and I didn't even groan too emphatically even when I saw the full-body shots. Even though I have a full body. And when I get the photo disk I paid for, I'll do a little montage of the results of me trying my best to look fetching and dazzling. Now...