Horror is a genre

by Rosalind Holgate Smith

What you see in these images is what was captured, unaltered. Im trying to show you so you can see too.

They are real images of real things, how can I put it any other way?

In some places the sizes are lost, made smaller, the dimensions change, and so you move differently from I and I stand here and you there and  from all angles there are new dangers, new possibilities of seeing what I saw,just in and from a different place.

I wonder if for you the surface, the tactility is lost? Im not sure thats what Im trying to get at, or hold on to anymore, at least not just that. It always slips away like your hands as they pass me, and everyone else in the street. I question with nothing to hold on to, if I can get through? And I’m unsure if I can go around.  To get to the other side. To reach what is beyond the surface. On the other side of the screen.

The light settles of on my skin. As I look down I notice the hairs standing erect upon my arm, like soldiers lined up and waiting. I see all the details, the cuts, the faint freckles, the white gelatine hovering pimples of a goose. A shadow, a large weight of black covers me, my head and my entire body bathe in as it passes over and is gone. No longer can I see my skin . Further more, I am no longer sure whether I am in the same place.

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