(UN)REPEATABLE

She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders.  She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. 

She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head.

You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question?

Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years.

She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck.
She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares.

Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos.

When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection.

Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul.

She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt.

Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen.

Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it.

An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness. She appears to be naked, yet the frame only shows a close up from her forehead to a few inches below her shoulders. She looks directly into the camera with a pierced nose an a neutral expression while a black cloth comes into sight on the background and begins to cover her head. You wonder, how long life is for those who question? Her hands flow like guided by a force out of her body, a force that precedes her by hundreds of years. She blinks calmly, you wonder the weight of history upon her shoulders, while the spiral of oppression accumulates as the turns of cloth built around her neck. She has been doing it in silence for generations, like a Greek statue wearing away her beauty by defying time and later study as a canon of her own nightmares. Yet, her face is still peaceful, undisturbed like a virgin in the turmoil of chaos. When the cloth is finished and there’s no more ghosts to wrap herself  with; she rests for a second, a moment of reflection. Then sets in motion to unfold what appeared to be infinite, returning to the origins of lightness, to the uncovered soul. She (un)wraps time with every twirl, but seems to have forgotten how freedom  felt. Letting the last turn of fabric escape her hand, it falls into the unseen. Her hair is short, and so is the lapse of time that you are allowed to see it. An oasis of beauty in a sea of darkness.

inspired by (UN)COVERING
a video art piece by  Farheen Haq