Poodle Attack

Camille

My newest acquired head is Camille (named after Camille Claudel, Rodin's lover, because of the movie I was watching the day I found her). She was a thrift store find, which surprised me because they usually don't sell mannequins and their parts because they can use them in the store. But, I got lucky, and now Camiile rocks the bicentennial scarf from atop the jewelry armoire.

I've tried to figure out my fascination with heads, faces. I have several "ugly jugs", otherwise known as face jugs, that were made by folk artists. Nearly all of the artwork hanging on my walls includes a head or face in them, either human, animal, or otherwise. The assemblage art robots, the "Mona Lister" painting that the fifth-grader did, the stills of Arlo Guthrie from "Alice's Restaurant," the Matt Sesow painting (try imagining a Matt Sesow painting without a face in it).

Obviously there's something about the eyes that makes a face meaningful. I can picture a face without everything but eyes. Noses are not necessarily required, nor mouths. But the eyes must be there. Why do I like looking at eyes that are not my own? I'm sure it's not just me that feels this way; even babies like to look at faces above everything else. I wonder if other animals are similar in this; I wonder if my poodle would like her stuffed weasel as much if it had no face, no eyes.

Philosophically speaking, some believe that life begins when we are observed by the "other." Would we exist if there were no eyes to see us? What is love except being "seen" by someone else?

Didn't realize a plastic head would cause me to delve into the essence of love. Guess I should just say I think my new head, Camille, is funny and let it go at that.