23/06/2026
Every time I look at these photographs, I feel like a Marie biscuit dipped in hot tea - fragile, melting.
The jasmine-white strands of her hair gathered into a bun. The Lake Market roses in their ivory softness. And then there is the Violet!
That particular ink-pad violet occupied a lioness’s share of my “past” life at the High Court and registration offices. The colour of fingerprints. The colour of one’s One-ness.
I have always been fascinated by fingerprints. The way we leave our impression on everything that we touch or hold and how beautiful it is to witness the oval shaped labyrinth of one’s finger. Violet ink marks on white. The ridges, the furrows, the arches, the loops. The valleys, the meandering lanes. Almost an entire landscape caught in an inch of skin.
And what amazed me the most was: no fingerprint in the world is identical to another.
Perhaps the most beautiful proof of a simple truth: “There is no one like you!”
Much like the woman in these photographs.
A lifetime of stories gathered in that silver bun. A thousand journeys hidden in the pleats of violet and red. A presence impossible to replicate.
Oh, how ridiculously beautiful is that!
To move through the world leaving behind a pattern that only belongs to YOU.
To ink violets and blues.
To fingerprints and flowers.
To the rare miracle of being oneself.
