Two After Cindy Sherman, by Cherie Hunter Day

 
Exclusion Zone 
 
after Untitled Film Still #33, by Cindy Sherman (USA) 1979
https://www.moma.org/collection/works/56708
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Even though she’s alone, she invites us into this generic bedroom with a double bed and rumpled bedding. This trespass has the smell of musk and men’s cologne. It lubricates the scene. Her hair is curly and cropped in a bouffant hairstyle. Her glasses are pink horn-rimmed cat eye. A sleeveless mock turtleneck in a subdued paisley print, pedal pushers, white bobby socks, and pastel penny loafers complete the look and register a timeframe of late 1950s. There’s an envelope with a letter laid out in the centre foreground. Placement directs us to believe that this is the most important element—the tip of an action triangle. She’s withdrawn to the right side of the bed near the headboard as far away from the letter as possible. Her right arm recoils behind her like she’s touched something toxic. She sits off balance with her legs drawn sideways—sidesaddle if she was on a horse. The brightest light comes from an outside source like sunshine through a window. It highlights her right calf, ankle, and foot. Her body seems precariously balanced on toe point, but she is grounded in this clarity. Her left arm and splayed hand steady the twist in her upper body. Our eyes follow the headboard across to the bedside table and a table lamp with a single naked lightbulb. In this lesser light is a framed portrait of a man wearing a tie, an older man with grey hair. He’s the third anchor point in the photo. Do we side with her or with him? A few holes in the wall plaster behind her, and the stark lighting helps us navigate the dichotomy.

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Entering the Fallout 
 
after Untitled Film Still #10, by Cindy Sherman (USA) 1978
https://www.moma.org/collection/works/56555

We’ve caught her in another awkward moment, scooched over a ripped brown paper grocery bag. She looks up but not directly at the camera. The side-eye glance suggests someone else is present. Campbell soup cans, plastic Blue Bonnet margarine tubs with flowers on the side, a jar of mustard, and a carton of orange juice lie discombobulated on the floor. She’s dressed in a mod flower mini skirt and over-the-knee boots. Her hair is a shaggy medium-length bob with blunt bangs. The makeup is period 1960’s with thick-winged eyeliner, black mascara and matte eyeshadow, nude lip polish over her lipstick. Her bare thighs form two sides of an action triangle at the center of the shot. The carton of extra-large eggs clutched in her right hand is the right length to be the third side of that triangle. Did the eggs survive unbroken? Maybe the chenille throw rug broke their fall. On her right forearm there are two pale bruises. One is shield-shaped and larger than the other. In black and white they’re a subtle shade of grey. With the rest of the shot so carefully considered, this element isn’t accidental. It’s a pivot point. Yet many of us will miss that detail along with the tiny rose sticker on the oven door. She looks up from this disaster with her coat still around her shoulders, a carapace of protection. It cleverly covers the wire of the camera’s remote shutter release with its push-button trigger. 
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Cherie Hunter Day

Cherie Hunter Day lives in the San Francisco Bay Area among some thirsty redwoods. Her work has appeared in Mid-American Review, Moon City Review, Rust & Moth, Unbroken, and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best Microfiction anthologies. Her most recent collection, A House Meant Only for Summer (Red Moon Press, 2023), features haibun and tanka prose. When not writing poetry and micro prose, or making collages, she is outside cleaning up after the aforementioned redwoods.