Creative photography usually leaves me cold. I think of photography as most effective as a documentary tool, or illustration, decorative but not particularly meaningful in itself. But this woman's photos
appeal to me on all sorts of levels. They describe the limits of eroticism, the limits of beauty (by which I mean how beautiful you can make yourself). The photographer - her own model - gives herself piece by piece (and over the course of enough photographs would give herself totally) but gives nothing of her identity. It is a curious conflict - to know someone extremely intimately but to know them not at all. You can't do that with writing (would you want to?) nor, I think, with any other kind of art.