Live.

Today at uni I saw one of the thinnest people I have ever encountered in real life. She was fashionably dressed. Even if I had not noticed her for her frame, she would have been conspicuous in her thick stockings and layered garments underneath a grey, chunky-knit cardigan on what was a sweltering day. I tried not to stare.

The first thought that came to my mind when I saw her painfully thin legs was that of photographs of half-starved concentration camp survivors. 

One week earlier the shower scene from Schindler's List had popped into my head as I walked naked up the steps of the Sydney Opera House, alongside several thousand other (similarly un-garbed) people who had come to be photographed by Spencer Tunick.

There isn't really any point to this post and I don't have a conclusion, but since seeing this girl I have been struck by the idea that, in her tiny tiny body, she seemed so close to not existing at all. 

Here is Lucian Freud's portrait of Kate Moss:

Sometimes it feels really good to see some luxurious flesh.