Looking at pictures of women, as seen pulled back toward my eye, I see myself withthem. I can’t help it. I parse their bodies, the forms. Not my own and yet familiar.
When I’m in front of the camera, my body is being looked at, is being performed, is being directed and recorded. It is being taken apart and pieced back together.
We repeat and repeat, the same scene, against the same wall, with the same lights. We write the body on a piece of film. Film that’s been pushed and prodded, mishandled and flipped. At a certain point I had to accept a bodily experience. It was pleasurable to look at their rough unpolished states, the bodies simply are: flipping, posing, being coy, arms as arrows, feet as poles, the lens as lover and mirror, the lens always looking back and being looked at, not by the face, but by the breasts, buttocks, heels, toes, shins, spines and throats, unhurried and happy to give that which can’t be taken.
Whitney Hubbs (b. 1977, Los Angeles) received her BFA from California College of the Arts and her MFA from UCLA. She is represented by M+B Gallery. whitneyhubbs.com