Internal Spring - Britt Grimm
After a very brief experimentation, I realized that instant photography was the medium I had been searching, longing for. The inherent flaws are what I identified with. We all struggle to put our most perfect face forward, but this is a game that cannot be won, as none of us have a perfect face, spirit, or least of all, mind.
One epiphany led to another, and I further related this to what it is to be female. I have always been drawn to females as the subject of my photography, and like an extension of girlhood, a photo shoot with me is generally spent laughing, playing dress up and telling secrets. Females have the most pressure put on them, with expectations to be perfect, like an airbrushed, digital mannequin . But the problem with that scenario is that we have voices and are hopelessly - no, hopefully flawed. Females go through many seasons in their lifetimes, but a flower remains inside them. Some days we may be frozen bulbs in the ground, while other days we are flowering orchids, rose bushes growing wild in just the right climate.
I suppose I try to photograph females in a perpetual state of springtime, lending a window to the viewer, a sneak peek at the first buds of the season, or those wild, tangled and thorny bushes that never stop blossoming. Still, no flower, regardless of its beauty, is ever perfect. Which is why Polaroid photography was a perfect fit for the vision I was attempting to portray.
Expired film tends to be my favorite, because the more expired, the more beautifully flawed an image will be. Not quite eternal spring, because seasons do come and go. But women always have a garden blooming inside them, sometimes with a more bountiful harvest than others. So the internal spring is what I attempt to capture, but never pick to take home for myself. Those that try to pick the flowers that grow inside every woman, or worse; make it ugly by trying to make something so beautifully flawed an image of airbrushed perfection, are causing an imbalance that reaches its limbs back into generations of women who have yet to even be born. If all we see is perfection, that is all we know to strive for. So I proudly put as many of my imperfect Polaroids into the world, hoping that young girls as well as the frail, feminine elderly will see: their own, personal internal spring with its leaves full of holes and petals giving way to the wind are perfectly imperfect. As long as women keep blooming, I will be there to capture it all before the last petal falls, all over a laugh, a cup of mint-flavored tea and a new crop of Polaroids. My only hope is to be planting seeds that will grow many more gardens and much more art for generations to come as I go.