A while ago I went back through some old photos from my "artsy photographer" days, and was kind of stunned at how much I loved their intimacy and raw, unfinished-ness.
This was before I got into more staged work with volunteer models, during my "cross-process all the films" phase. At the time, I didn't think much beyond random experimentation, and regarded most of my work as amateur-ish (it was) and therefore unremarkable.
But something about this unpolished, rougher version of myself speaks to me now; time and distance has made her a stranger. It's a bit like peeking into the window of a friend's house. I know her, but I don't *know* her, so I'm not inclined to judge.
