She takes one photo, and then she works on it for months at a time. She
examines it from every angle and meticulously recolors, sharpens,
airbrushes. It's strange how it works. She can take a picture of a
seascape, with articulations in the surf, sand and sky above, and you'd
think it's naturally articulated enough, but no.

Thing is, certain arrangements of details stick in her craw. Like if
she finds a construction of three above a one above a three, she will
change it. It gives her the deep willies, the hard shudders.

Then there's the hiddens. She does her best to find and eliminate the
hidden messages. She'll stare at it for hours on end -- day, night,
hungry, full, sated, celibate, ovulating, menses...she wants a
consensus from every chemical state of which her body is capable.
Especially sleep-deprived -- that's when you see the most faces. Try it
sometime. Go without sleep for 24 hours and gaze at any articulated
surface. Her contention is that we catch those all the time and they
give us at least the shallow willies, without us ever knowing why we're
willying. She doesn't want that in her photos. She'll break up and
manipulate and remove those hiddens. Sometimes it takes months.

Then, depending on her mood, she might put in hiddens. But pleasant
things, or things designed to help along the mood she's trying to
convey. That's why you're captured by it, the eye, then haul along the
brain and its symptoms of reverie all over again. And she feels them.
Having been so long entranced by the photo, she's put herself into it,
it's now an extension of herself, and when it reacts with you, she
feels it too. It gives her the deep and shallow sheilas, the absolute
opposite of the willies. Silky snakes in her belly all day and night.
Like when she hears someone sweeping. She could listen to someone
sweeping for hours, in a trance. In a sheila-trance.