november lämnade mig med en mening som blev kvar.
’all the women in me.
are tired.‘
när min reflektion ser tillbaka på mig i den antika guldspegeln i sovrummet,
där jag sitter på sängkanten just medan solen går upp,
är jag stilla tacksam att dess glas är sådär ogenomskinligt,
har svarta blinda fläckar av ålder. är ett mjukt god morgon
för en nu i skrynkligt svart siden och håret i oreda.
jag nyper rosor på kinderna, en fåfäng trädgårdsmästare.
kyssar som i slummer. hon är trött som stryker hans skäggstubb.
mitt kaffe. hans te. litens mjölk. i invand barfota dans.
eskimåpussar och plötsliga, klara, - mamma.
hon är trött som lyfter upp honom från golvet då.
men hon lyfter.
till höften och vidare upp i luften. upp, upp, upp.
håller honom högt i morgonljuset. allt för ett förtjust fnitter.
en hög brev och telefonen som brevpress.
svar som dröjt för länge och som fortfarande blir för korta.
systern. vännen. hon är trött som knappar in svar,
där hon sitter vid köksbordet under en sällsam stilla
och redan utmätt stund.
systern, vännen, trött på att vara trött.
kameran är tung i handen.
jag svarar på frågor runt vad jag gör,
går i cirklar över golvet och ber en stilla bön att
det sista ska falla på plats i dagarna som vecklar ut sig.
hon är trött som sorterar ord till fotografier.
men hon minns.
varenda titel och dikt. tonen i fotografiet.
min enda skärpa. bildminnet.
nästa vecka ska min personliga print-butik äntligen vara klar.
vi måste ju hinna skicka julklappar.
och jag är tillbaka i just det personliga.
det känns så rätt och så bra, ända in, förbi tröttheten
och för alla de delar som lever i mig.
som jag svarade när jag gick där i cirklar över golvet,
med telefonen inkilad mellan axel och öra;
my art..?
nästa vecka ska min personliga print-butik äntligen vara klar.
vi måste ju hinna skicka julklappar.
och jag är tillbaka i just det personliga.
det känns så rätt och så bra, ända in, förbi tröttheten
och för alla de delar som lever i mig.
som jag svarade när jag gick där i cirklar över golvet,
med telefonen inkilad mellan axel och öra;
my art..?
it’s not business. it’s personal.
in i december och långt vidare än så, tänker jag att det är okej att vara trött.
för mig var 2016 ett år som krävde,
som ställde det mesta på sin spets. 2016 ställde frågor.
jag tror att 2017 blir ett år som svarar.
och så läser jag nya ord som fastnar, som får ta över;
i am obsessed with becoming
a woman
comfortable in her skin.
jag läser dem för henne på sängkanten,
för henne som barfota dansar i köket, för systern
och för vännen. fotografen också.
och för Er.
med kärlek,
hannah
image n°1, 4 & 5 | all for fira a/w'16 look book studio september |
model / muse : lina lindholm | hair & mua : jossi madsen |
location : ballroom blitzz
image n°2 | a shot from the home of my amazing friend sara n bergman
featuring my fine art print 'shadow' from the upcoming print shop,
taken by babysister e.. thank you..!
image n°3 | fine art print 'private' shot in our home
quotes | "all the women in me. are tired." written by favorite nayyirah waheed
and new love - "i am obsessed with becoming a woman
comfortable in her skin" is written by sandra cisneros
inspiration | thought on the difference in years from
"there are years that ask questions and years that answer"
by zora neale hurston
© hannah lemholt photography
//
november left me with a sentence that remained.
'all the women in me.
are tired.'
when my reflection looks back at me in the vintage gold mirror in our bedroom,
where i sit, it seems, on the edge of the bed just as the sun rises,
i am stilly thankful that its glass is opaque like that,
has black blind spots of age. is a soft good morning
for one now in crumpled black silk and hair in disarray.
i pinch roses in my cheeks, a vain gardener.
the kisses are slumberous.
she's tired, the one stroking his stubbled chin.
*
hannah
model / muse : lina lindholm | hair & mua : jossi madsen |
location : ballroom blitzz
image n°2 | a shot from the home of my amazing friend sara n bergman
featuring my fine art print 'shadow' from the upcoming print shop,
taken by babysister e.. thank you..!
image n°3 | fine art print 'private' shot in our home
quotes | "all the women in me. are tired." written by favorite nayyirah waheed
and new love - "i am obsessed with becoming a woman
comfortable in her skin" is written by sandra cisneros
inspiration | thought on the difference in years from
"there are years that ask questions and years that answer"
by zora neale hurston
© hannah lemholt photography
//
november left me with a sentence that remained.
'all the women in me.
are tired.'
when my reflection looks back at me in the vintage gold mirror in our bedroom,
where i sit, it seems, on the edge of the bed just as the sun rises,
i am stilly thankful that its glass is opaque like that,
has black blind spots of age. is a soft good morning
for one now in crumpled black silk and hair in disarray.
i pinch roses in my cheeks, a vain gardener.
the kisses are slumberous.
she's tired, the one stroking his stubbled chin.
*
my coffee. his tea. buba’s milk. in an accustomed barefoot dance.
eskimo kisses and a sudden, all clear, - mamma.
she’s tired, she who lifts him up off the floor right then.
but she lifts.
to the hip and on, up into the air. up, up, up.
hold him high in the morning light. everything for a delighted giggle.
a pile of letters and the phone as the paperweight.
replies that’s taken a long time and are still too short.
the sister. the friend. she’s tired, she who keys in replies,
where she’s sitting at the kitchen table for one
of those rare, and already meted, - moments of quiet.
the sister, the friend, tired of being tired.
*
the camera is heavy in the hand.
i answer questions about what i do, how i do it,
walking in circles across the floor and pray a silent prayer
for the last pieces to fall into place in the days unfolding.
she's tired, she who’s sorting words for photographs.
but she remembers.
every title and every poem. the tone of the photograph.
my only sharpness. my 'image memory'.
next week, my personal print shop will finally launch.
i mean, we have to do it in time to send christmas gifts.
and with it i’m back to just that, - personal.
it feels so right and so good, all the way in, past the tired
and for all the parts that live in me.
as i answered, walking there in circles across the floor,
with the phone wedged between shoulder and ear;
my art ..?
it’s not business. it’s personal.
*
into december and far further than that,
i’m thinking that it's okey to be tired.
for me 2016 was a year that demanded,
one that brought most to a head. 2016 raised questions.
i think 2017 will be a year that answers.
and so i read a new sentence that remains,
one that gets to take over;
i am obsessed with becoming
a woman
comfortable in her skin.
i read them to her sitting on the edge of the bed,
to her barefoot dancing in the kitchen,
to the sister, and the friend. the lover.
to the photographer too.
and to you.
with love,
hannah
x
eskimo kisses and a sudden, all clear, - mamma.
she’s tired, she who lifts him up off the floor right then.
but she lifts.
to the hip and on, up into the air. up, up, up.
hold him high in the morning light. everything for a delighted giggle.
a pile of letters and the phone as the paperweight.
replies that’s taken a long time and are still too short.
the sister. the friend. she’s tired, she who keys in replies,
where she’s sitting at the kitchen table for one
of those rare, and already meted, - moments of quiet.
the sister, the friend, tired of being tired.
*
the camera is heavy in the hand.
i answer questions about what i do, how i do it,
walking in circles across the floor and pray a silent prayer
for the last pieces to fall into place in the days unfolding.
she's tired, she who’s sorting words for photographs.
but she remembers.
every title and every poem. the tone of the photograph.
my only sharpness. my 'image memory'.
next week, my personal print shop will finally launch.
i mean, we have to do it in time to send christmas gifts.
and with it i’m back to just that, - personal.
it feels so right and so good, all the way in, past the tired
and for all the parts that live in me.
as i answered, walking there in circles across the floor,
with the phone wedged between shoulder and ear;
my art ..?
it’s not business. it’s personal.
*
into december and far further than that,
i’m thinking that it's okey to be tired.
for me 2016 was a year that demanded,
one that brought most to a head. 2016 raised questions.
i think 2017 will be a year that answers.
and so i read a new sentence that remains,
one that gets to take over;
i am obsessed with becoming
a woman
comfortable in her skin.
i read them to her sitting on the edge of the bed,
to her barefoot dancing in the kitchen,
to the sister, and the friend. the lover.
to the photographer too.
and to you.
with love,
hannah
x
