"I am talking about myself, one part of me describing what another part of me is doing. I am both the observer and the object I observe."
The quote from Beckett is not a metaphor but a reality of my everyday life: I simply look at my image through a mirror and record a moment in the observation process. As time accumulates, more and more such records are created, and I consolidate them into a series. I cannot explain, perhaps because of my natural timidity, that I am so laced with an ominous foreboding and cold harshness towards all beauty that I cannot truly enjoy the beauty of my image. I am petrified that my very existence is the potential for death and that it is a slow and brutal process. This process makes the beauty of the present moment a prelude to aging, and it extinguishes my passion for beauty. I have been preparing for the image of my existence until I am entirely aged. 

Among similar subjects, I was struck by the work of Yuki Araki and Hans Bellmer, two controversial artists whose work is as beautiful to me as the abyss - once you get caught up in beauty, you are bound to fall into the darkest thoughts in the world. Araki's work is honest, I found a few copies in an old book, and his work does not shy away from expressing the results of his interaction with the images in his photographs. After he has made a beautiful woman happy, he records the moments when she is immersed in happiness. And as the person who creates the happiness of others, he picks up the camera and works. He is indifferent and numb. The overwhelming emptiness of his work resonates with me. He is more fortunate than women in that he can find objects to carry pleasure, and the subject can preserve his reason and technique to articulate the immense emptiness he experiences. In his shocking works, he states an ancient Eastern philosophy: Form is emptiness. He is also less fortunate than the woman, who has no way of finding a more fragile and innocent object and is thus cut into two parts, one of which falls into a temporary and extreme madness with the rest of the world; the other half feels the emptiness of being cut off from the world and life, where the air becomes thin. I was struck by the experience that women are, in a sense, more fully human.

Hans Bellmer uses his work to create a Rashomon between life and death. In his work, the dolls appear to be alive or to have lived; the humans seem to be inorganic bodies.

How can we come to terms with the fact that we are thrown into this world without ever asking for it? Who are we; what is the true nature of who we are? What does it mean when a person says "I"?
The point is not the question and its answer, but any interrogation of the meaning of existence is default masculine.
When a woman realized it is wrong to be treated as an object, she started to doubt if its proper to be beautiful. Should she remove her femininity to prove her strength and determination? Should she prove she is capable as a man to gain respect? Is its correct to express her yearning for power? How could she show her anger without being considered too sensitive?
There are many more questions each woman has to endure before she finally comes to the final and the only question of life, what is the meaning of life? 

I have carried this question on my back since I was six years old, and it has been haunting me since I dreamt that my grandmother was a lone crippled wolf locked in a pit 10 meters deep. Since then, I have been unable to fulfill the destiny of a woman being taught.