Photograph of Mirka Mora dolls at Heide Gallery taken by Carol O'Connor
Kitchen collisions add to December heat. Florid
customers keep a din at the tables, their nerve-wracking gossip upping its
pitch. Just over the horizon is Paris, but Melbourne is novels waiting to be
written, a way of saying it in x number of languages. Outside, the cool change
loosens moods. She lets pandemonium escape back into her sewing basket.
Returning home she locks the door behind her into silence again. Time for dolls,
flat as a sketchbook, cuter than a kewpie, buxom as a cushion. They populate
canvases, turn into cavorting dogs, wordless cherubim. They lean quietly on
Mirka’s cookbooks.
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