Other artists had drawn upon popular culture, but Sherman’s strategy was new. For her the pop-culture image was not a subject (as it had been for Walker Evans) or raw material (as it had been for Andy Warhol) but a whole artistic vocabulary, ready-made. Her film stills look and function just like the real ones—those 8-by-10-inch glossies designed to lure us into a drama we find all the more compelling because we know it is not real.
In the Untitled Film Stills there are no Cleopatras, no ladies on trains, no women of a certain age. There are, of course, no men. The sixty-nine solitary heroines map a particular constellation of fictional femininity that took hold in postwar America—the period of Sherman’s youth, and the ground-zero of our contemporary mythology. In finding a form for her own sensibility, Sherman touched a sensitive nerve in the culture at large. (via)
Hey there, I'm Julie. I live in Maine like Stephen King. Creating bizarre photos is my unhealthy hobby. I have an obsession with anything involving an octopus, and I love me some Bright Eyes, Blink 182 & Brand New.
My blog is basically my digital brain. All my posts consist on what's going on in my life, or images I find that interest me.