where the self lives.

as a continuation of my last post, i'm still waist deep in psychological texts and i've been having nightmares. i find that i keep most parts of my personal, sacred, inner self shrouded, turning away from any reveals. but this isn't always the case. i sleep with a pack of small tarot cards conjured from bolinas, near the sea to soothe my night thoughts. i worry i've said too much.
there's something about these haunting and yet dreamy photographs by french artist aëla labbé that i feel connected to in my current state of unbalance and unrest.