The legs feel like tools, not parts of me. The gym becomes a place where the body works while the self withdraws. This photo is documentation, a quiet way of saying I was there.
Shadows act as witnesses. There is discomfort in angling the camera forward, even for a quick snip.
But the camera pans downward not only in public, but also in private spaces. The camera points down because my mind is there too. There is a quick withdrawal. I keep moving with my eyes lowered and my hands in my pockets.
It becomes a distraction, watching everyone move the way they do. I wonder whether it is empathetic or cruel to keep moving forward without acknowledging what is passing by and moving through me.
