The one that can't be

I'm recording sculptures of vulvas, created by visual artist Isabele Linhares and molded from the negative of women's vaginas. Abstracting has been part of the anguish that has accompanied me since I began documenting this process in 2018. The aesthetic is no exception to the political: and the forms that emerge materialized are exposed anonymously, our vulvas cannot be named because of the risks to their very existence. And sometimes, they don't even become an image, as in the case of trans women who gave up on participating in the project at the last minute. I wonder if we become layers upon layers, and resemble water tables or moon valleys: can we exist?