acts on the mind in some strange way, this dress, this terrain.
It forces the mind to coalesce two seemingly contradictory
concepts. The physical presence of the empty dress hovering
ghostly above the empty landscape sparks a palpable sensation of
absence. It makes us feel the lack of something that ought to be
there, but isn't. It is, in a way, like experiencing a kiss on
the wrist of an amputated arm.
For a year now, Jean Albus
has been most beautifully unsettling our minds with this
dress—this series of dresses. There is meaning in these images,
though the meaning may shift with the prairie wind. She has
openly revealed the existence of a secret, but the nature of the
secret itself remains hidden. This is her secret, though she
generously shares with us a tantalizing glimpse.
at these photographs, I feel both hollow and warm. I feel a
pleasure woven out of sorrow. I feel a beauty born of loss. And
most of all, I feel a sort of strength—as if the harsh terrain
has lent its power to that delicate dress, and I sense that the
dress will survive for as long as the prairie continues to exist
Greg Fallis, Utata Photography