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Description
Photographer : Sharon Yanai www.SharonPhoto.com

This is a series about the morning habits. I wrote a text about it some months ago. Then I met Sharon, who coincidently wanted to do a series with women getting dressed before work. His wish was to show how women feel about their nudity. So we had to meet! We did the shooting in the order of the text, which is following (thanks David for correcting my english errors) :

It’s time. It’s the ritual. From my bed, I draw back the curtains. Did it snow this night ? I turn around and stand up... both feet on the ground, at the same time. I store my bedside book -the one that is explaining to me how we love- in my bag. It’s in order to continue the dream later, on the way. I open the door. If I smell coffee I won’t have to make it myself. This morning she made it for the both of us. The milk heating up, I begin to prepare myself in the bathroom. I switch the tuner to Klassik Radio. The milk is warm. One spoon of sugar, I froth it up. I add coffee. I skim the foam from the tip of the spoon and, when there’s no more of it, I drink my coffee in the bathroom. Acompanied by the poetry of the classical music, I tie my hair into a clever little bun. I take my shower,as always, with the same series of motions. The water is warm, and this relaxes my muscles, which are stiff from this bad night without you..

After showeing, I return naked to my room to look for my hairbrush, and my clothes. This is a moment which pleases me. The hallway mirrors flatter me. If I stand in front of the kitchen door I can, with the smooth light, watch myself at leisure. Why am I so bewitched by this body? It doesn’t yet resemble models of femininity. However in its fineness, in its fragility, it is perfect.

I brush my hair in the bathroom. My hair in order, I slip on my clothes one by one, regretting hiding myself in this way. Never mind, I’ll wait for the evening ritual to discover myself again. I head once again towards my room, when an opera singer reminds me of all the love I have for you. This clear and tortured vocal moves me, and it’s my heart that tightens up again, so far from your words which bring so much peace. At the sound of those torments I have to write it, to draw it, or to capture it. This feeling that seizes me when I think of you. And once the act is complete I am a little bit free, from this grasp that forever tightens, if by your presence I’m not cradled.

Text © Mr-Kitty-s

Description
Photographer : Sharon Yanai www.SharonPhoto.com

This is a series about the morning habits. I wrote a text about it some months ago. Then I met Sharon, who coincidently wanted to do a series with women getting dressed before work. His wish was to show how women feel about their nudity. So we had to meet! We did the shooting in the order of the text, which is following (thanks David for correcting my english errors) :

It’s time. It’s the ritual. From my bed, I draw back the curtains. Did it snow this night ? I turn around and stand up... both feet on the ground, at the same time. I store my bedside book -the one that is explaining to me how we love- in my bag. It’s in order to continue the dream later, on the way. I open the door. If I smell coffee I won’t have to make it myself. This morning she made it for the both of us. The milk heating up, I begin to prepare myself in the bathroom. I switch the tuner to Klassik Radio. The milk is warm. One spoon of sugar, I froth it up. I add coffee. I skim the foam from the tip of the spoon and, when there’s no more of it, I drink my coffee in the bathroom. Acompanied by the poetry of the classical music, I tie my hair into a clever little bun. I take my shower,as always, with the same series of motions. The water is warm, and this relaxes my muscles, which are stiff from this bad night without you..

After showeing, I return naked to my room to look for my hairbrush, and my clothes. This is a moment which pleases me. The hallway mirrors flatter me. If I stand in front of the kitchen door I can, with the smooth light, watch myself at leisure. Why am I so bewitched by this body? It doesn’t yet resemble models of femininity. However in its fineness, in its fragility, it is perfect.

I brush my hair in the bathroom. My hair in order, I slip on my clothes one by one, regretting hiding myself in this way. Never mind, I’ll wait for the evening ritual to discover myself again. I head once again towards my room, when an opera singer reminds me of all the love I have for you. This clear and tortured vocal moves me, and it’s my heart that tightens up again, so far from your words which bring so much peace. At the sound of those torments I have to write it, to draw it, or to capture it. This feeling that seizes me when I think of you. And once the act is complete I am a little bit free, from this grasp that forever tightens, if by your presence I’m not cradled.

Text © Mr-Kitty-s