Millie Logan on a bench next to the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink. Even though it's dark, the nearby lights and the ice lend the photo a surreal glow. Her cheeks are flushed, she holds a cup in her gloved hands, and she's turning towards the camera, as though catching the photographer in the act
Millie in a gold-threaded dress, looking out over the Manhattan skyline at night. Her hand is on the window as she gazes out, a subtle reflection of herself over the panorama of towers of midtown looming over Central Park. The room is only illuminated by the glow from outside and candlelight, which glints off the metallic workings of her gown.
This photo is a blaze of motion - Millie on a dance floor, lost in a tune, frozen in time. Paused as she is, the sense of the rythm, the sensual movement caught forever, is still there.
Photos Four and Five
The first photo is Millie surrounded by flowers,a blaze of exotics and roses, in crimson and saffron, coral, peach and tiger. In a drift of red and bronze silk, she looks like the spirit of this forest of blooms as she looks up, caught in the moment of stepping out of her world.
In the second, she lies on a bed, the robe disheveled and her hair splayed around her. Her lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, she holds out a hand in invitation towards the lens.
The pale light of dawn creeps over her face, presumably from the wall of windows from the nighttime photo. She lies tangled in a sheet, her skin a sharp contrast framed against the pale bedclothes. It seems as though this is the moment between sleep and waking; a soft smile curves at the edge of her mouth.
In contrast to the other photos, this one appears to be an ordinary daytime scene on a New York street. Millie stands in an open doorway holding baby Isabel, whose dark curls threaten to tumble out of a barrette that barely contains them. The infant is clearly delighted to see her, reaching a small hand towards her mother's face, and Millie, oblivious to the camera, smiles back at her child, eyes wide and alight with wonder and joy.
When it's cold and raining,
you are more beautiful.
And the snow brings me
even closer to your lips.
The inner secret, that which was never born,
you are that freshness, and I am with you now.
I can't explain the goings,
or the comings. You enter suddenly,
and I am nowhere again.
Inside the majesty.