That should be a difficult question to answer, but it isn't.
It's an underexposed Polaroid taken by George Pitts--an accident, and one that he was going to throw out, since it was so dark. He seemed surprised and a bit amused that I took such a liking to it, and gave it to me. In it, I'm standing by a window in a white dress [which has since been stained to oblivion and otherwise destroyed] and I'm making a very particular sort of face, thinking about a very particular sort of thing.
I think I like it because it has this dark, almost macabre mood all its own--a complete accident. And it's the most honest, vulnerable-looking photo, taken when there was a lot of gnarly shit going on in my life, during a small, quiet moment at which I was allowing myself to be overwhelmed by all of it. I've been told a few times that I usually look kind of "intense" and "strong" in my photos [I've also been told that I look scary or angry or mean, go figure]...so it's a nice, rare contrast.
It should be a very easy photo to include in this post, but it isn't.
I don't have a scan of it, actually--and I thought about scanning it, but I kind of like retaining the mystery and keeping the photo all to myself. I'm actually not 100% sure where it is right now, anyway, being an oft disorganized and absent-minded creature with multiple home bases.
At this point, I might as well post some of the work I did with George, though none of it resembles the photo I was describing. He was great--I was exhausted and actually fell asleep in a chair while he was tinkering around [changing film or something]. I woke up and felt really guilty, and he just goes, "No, no, no, just keep doing what you're doing. I was just about to photograph you sleeping!" So I shrugged and closed my eyes again, and there we go.
[On a completely unrelated note, it's my mom's birthday today!]