I met her again: my quiet, fragile being with her body so transparent as if it was made of ice. I took her to the woods, undressed her and watched how strongly she reminds me of my own fear. That day I took many photos. Every one of them bears the signs of death (as the marks of her hands on my back).
It's intriguing that you can capture the body of a frail woman. Always delicate and fragile. I wondered why you let the model look into the camera instead of a blank stare.