Pinky Bass's visual art appears in Issue 57: Mend.
My work in photography, whether pinhole or standard, has always aimed at revealing edges of the mystery of life, aging and death, particularly in relation to the human body. Often surreal, the images that I prefer exist on the edge of the dream world.
My stitchery work began during my sister’s battle with cancer. I became obsessed with what was going on inside her body and began a series of internal organs sewn onto photographs of the human figure. In addition to my sister, my oldest son, both my parents, and a close artist/collaborator died over the period of a few years. I have done handwork all my life and the comfort of doing that on photographs helped me through a long grieving period.
Some thirty years ago I began working with Carolyn DeMeritt, a photographer from Charlotte, North Carolina. She documented the significant stages of my sister’s journey through cancer as well as the aging and disintegration of my own human form. Her striking images are often the ground on which my threads search for meaning and understanding.
Sister Synergy, 2018. Archival print with thread. 11 inches x 10.25 inches.
Pregnancy from Contemplating My Internal Organs, 1999–2006. Gelatin silver print with thread. 11 inches x 8 inches.
Digestive Issues, 2019. Archival print with thread. 12.5 inches x 9 inches.
Bass received her MFA in photography from Georgia State University in 1988 at age 52. Her grants include SAF/NEA, RAP and an Alabama State Arts Council Fellowship. Bass’ work is represented in the Polaroid Collection and in numerous museums, including Philadelphia, the High in Atlanta and Birmingham. Publications include The Polaroid Book and Christopher James’ Book of Alternative Photographic Processes. She has had over 40 solo exhibitions and was featured in Alabama Public Television’s 2019 series Monograph. www.pinkymmbass.blogspot.com
View and read the other art, stories, and poems from Ruminate's Issue 57: Mend.
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Also in The Waking
A thick black line appears in the distance, stretching six feet across. As the shadow grows bigger, it starts to undulate. It has wings.
Cities and names are all washed away, but we’re here, still witnessing and partaking in life, adding more footprints to the eternal shores.
I never dream and when I wake up I don’t feel like I’ve even been asleep. Sometimes I wake up thinking I’ve been awake. It’s nothing.