Me as a nesting doll

Maybe it’s the time of year. Maybe it’s that I’ve been ill the past few days and have felt fragile. Maybe it’s that I miss my sister who lives in New Orleans. I’m not sure what to attribute this to, but recently, I’ve wanted nothing more than to be the tiny baby doll at the center of a set of Russian nesting dolls.

The notion of a similar object within a similar object within a similar object holds a lot of appeal for me. It has something to do with proportion and ratios. And I like the idea of being cocooned within several layers of familiarity, yet occupying a space that is solely mine.

The little baby in the center is the only doll whose head or torso does not twist open to reveal something inside itself. The baby’s job is to reside in the middle and delight those who open container after container to reach her.

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