After using my Polaroid Colorpack 80 for a couple of years, the camera stopped and refuesed the ordinary, straight job all cameras perform day in and day out: Providing "exact" copies of reality.
No matter wherupon I pointed the camera, the photos more and more approached the look of paintings. Finally, all outside world vanished and the quantitiy of possible painting in polaroids reached the point of culmination.
Since then, the camera's images gave an impression of visions - visions of dreaming of Mark Rothko's paintings.
I believe that her heart belongs to Rothko.
