l'appartement

Last week, I was invited to join Helena and her magical sisterhood of impossible souls. Two hours before their fairy lights party, I walked around the rooms and took photos of their walls, as they were getting ready, indecisive, going from glitter to seethrough shirts, sharing creams and perfumes in the bathroom which warmth enveloped the whole apartment.

In between all these open doors, I could catch glimpses of captured memories, pink lights of summer afternoons lying on the walls, scarves and candles floating around this sanctuary out of space. In the middle of their transparent tops and lace dresses, there were these Prada jeans washed off souvenir of beach evenings made of sand and windy dances, bus travels and airport benches. 'They are our travelling pants.', Becca said as I was picking them up. Behind her, the jeans were indeed travelling from a film photo to another, changing bodies and shapes to fit into different universes, yet each full of golden glitter and carefree laughters.

There is something fascinating about this girlhood haven where sparkly lipgloss, study books, teddy bears and sexy lingerie coexist. While photographing these magnetic souls, I realised women are a whole, for they never truly let go of the girls they used to be.

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These powerful women aren't always self-confident. In fact, I see them blush and hide their smile behind an orange scarf or a glass of wine, almost apologetic of this spontaneous laugh that took the entire room by surprise. Silently, I wonder who deserves to know these girls as they are, evolving from their purple printed tops to their flawless perfect white shirts. I wonder if boys hold the same beauty of paradox.

To me, the month of May lies in the essence of these girls, in their rooms, sharing secrets and wine, burning candles and cigarettes as the night fades away on their yellow sheets.