ABSTRACT
The wheel whirls in a blur, supported by strong wooden dowels and obscuring her right arm as she turns the crank. Her left hand pauses away from her body and above her head, a head looking down, beaming at the baby in her lap. Does the child echo the mother’s gesture, left hand raised, emulating her body with its tiny form? Does she rock the child to sleep with the rhythmic sound of the wheel? Or does the child turn to hide from the sun, from the photographer, from the camera by nestling deeper in her lap, blending back into her body with the pattern of her garment?
