Matca: Showing, Thinking, and Writing Photography Ha Dao
When flipping through the pages of our worn-out family album, I came across a portrait of my sister and me. It brought up vivid memories of a Sunday morning. I was around four, and my sister was nine. We clutched each other on the back of mom's bike as she pedaled through narrow alleys to a neighborhood studio. At home, she had put me in my best ruffle dress and painted our lips red with the same lipstick she wore every day to work. A lady there had my sister slip on a piece of fabric with clips on the back to give off the impression of a tube dress. The photographer must have told us to smile for the camera.
Childhood portrait.
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