There is a woman                                                     

There is a woman. Forty years old. Loves forests. A village girl, she grew up among boys, strolled with them across woodland and meadows. She still feels best in those places. Take a walk, stray away, drop on the grass, watch animals, climb a tree … The boys have long been gone now, not really missed any longer, really. She lives alone…

There is a woman. Forty years old. Some years ago rashes appeared on her body. She was diagnosed allergetic and forbidden to touch anything made of plastic. Since then she has spent all her wekends in the forests, away from the city. This is the only place she is free to touch, hold, caress things without gloves   …

There is a woman. Forty years old. Interested in beetles. Not at work – it is just a hobby. Outing in the forest, she peers under the bark of trees, classifying their beetle inhabitants in her own system, according to the creatures' behaviour rather than their species. What really counts is the level of aggressivity observed: tame, fighter, vehement, attacker, etc. She uses a scale of ten…

There is a woman. Forty years old. She teaches at a secondary school in the outskirts of the city. She is increasingly disappointed in her work. Less and less does she tolerate the school's athmosphere, the colleagues' apathy, the pupils' indifference, abandon and aggressiveness. The other day she was leaving for home when some boys verbally insulted her on the square near the school. She started running. Stopped only in the middle of the forest outside the city. Lingered long next to a fallen tree.

There is a woman. Forty years old. She lives in a house outside a forest. This is where she was born. Here parents died long ago, replaced by her husband and son in the neat little house. She no longer remembers how long she has been going out to the forest every afternoon. To the same spot, every single day. To a tree, fallen in a storm a couple of years ago. She gazes long at it, climbs the rotting trunk. There is the icised text, still clearly visible:” Mary, Michael, 1989”…

There is a woman. Forty years old. A forestry engineer, she is an advocate of natural forestry. She introduced the methods ensuring permanent foliage coverage in the Pilis Recreational Forest. She makes computer-aided designs, likes domestic trees, is fond of mixed and therefore ecologically solid forests. She regards ecology and economy equally important. She is in personal touch with every tree, performing a special farewell rite whenever one dies.

There is a woman. Forty years old. Taking photographs for over two decades. Always had excellent cameras, eager to use the latest technology. Something, however, changed a few months ago. One morning she walked out to the forest, taking along the first pinhole camera made by herself. And she has kept on making them ever since. She spends days building a camera which she places after thorough preparation. One gets dug into the ground, the next one is tied on a tree, she works like a poacher. ”I'm trapping the light!” she keeps saying to herself…

There is a woman. Forty years old…

István Krajnik

 

The text - beyond the photograph - was inspired by the Péter Esterhazy's novel: "She loves me."

István Krajnik was born in Vásárosnamény 1957.

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