I instantly thought about my mother. I distrust any memories I do have. Even so, I was drawn to this room, as if to danger, a wish to pit my puny strength against my father's, whose every command was law. My dad gave up and let my mom be my primary parent while he decided to focus on my two younger brothers who he could relate to easier. It sucks because it makes you twitchy in relation to all things sexual.
It is not just the child in me who refuses to take a benign view of these photographs, a child who says of course my parents did not enjoy sex together, it is the adult I have become, the adult who looks back and remembers.
In my father’s house
I cannot explain the anger I felt. I imagined they were under great pressure to do well at school. He said nothing. But the construction of her photographs as fiction rather than fact, with a moody narrative linking the images, puts her in a camp with Cindy Sherman and the post-modernists. All I knew was I needed to get out of that house immediately. Priscilla Frank. Donald Trump.