I look upon their frozen faces and wonder what they are thinking. Are dolls inherently use to being loved and abandoned? I hate that word and all that goes with it. I haven’t quite abandoned them, they are not in boxes in the cupboard. But I have developed a weird distance to them. As if they all held memories that I no longer wish to experience.
Living in Scotland has changed me fundamentally. Or aging has. Or the combination. I have sort of lost recognition of myself. The mirror shows a completely different face than the one I have known. I mused over the thought that if I could gaze into the mirror of myself at say, 7 years of age, would I recognise myself any better? And so perhaps this longing to recognise what I once knew as me is what I am attempting to do with my dolls. If I cannot see myself, how can I possibly see them?