Within her box behind glass Bébé Marie’s frail immortality could never be wrecked. Living further behind twigs, in a fictional forest, Bébé Marie is not only safe, away from air or elements or anyone who might touch her, but she is also a voyeur, always gazing at her viewer. A smiling evasiveness indicates that she has something to hide. What is it? The longer I stare at Bébé Marie, the more I want to know why she is in the forest, and why she is hidden. She entices me to come closer. Why is she so enmeshed in the woods? She stares and I imagine what she wants, and what she longs for, and suddenly, she knows! She knows all my longings and desires and fears, and inhabits them, and suddenly I am that doll in the forest, helpless and afraid—staring into myself. The exchange is an eerie one, fraught with complication. For I, the voyeur, have been caught by Bébé Marie. She has embodied all my desires, and knows that I am her, that object, lurking in the woods and I may never get out.
1 comment:
that doll is living in a fiction that embodies an imagination..well, my real name is bebe marie and i am existing as a real person... I like this post
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