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Writen by Tommi P

Tunde explores the post-freudian machinery of today in her photography and in the minds of those who were born as hands and reached up to pat their heads through the womb, immediately breaking in the cyclical wear and tear of creation. She dissolves her camera in broken digits, halloween, acid blow jobs. The great pain of aging with no mamapapa cradling itself and making off towards the highway with half empty garbage found beer cans to puke, homeless. It is bound to arrest you at your dinner table

  • Joined: July 2008