“I never want to see another picture of ________.” Industry veterans share their pet peeves on themes in contemporary photography. In this series they present their “rule” along with five photographs that break the rule in an effort to show that great work is the exception to the rule.

Rule Setter: Kat Kiernan, Editor-in-Chief, Don’t Take Pictures
Rule Breaker: Helena Blomqvist

I never want to see another photographic series of dolls brought to life. Many photographers have made beautiful doll portraits and still lifes that speak to their personal histories. But when dolls stop being dolls and become surrogate actors, photographers too often rely on easy personification to do the heavy lifting of complex narratives. Photographs of a doll in a human’s world can look absurd or unsettling—its scale and fixed facial expression out of sync with the environment. Photographs of a doll in a doll’s world can feel static and remote—rarely can I become invested in a diorama. But there are always exceptions. In her series, Florentine, Swedish photographer Helena Blomqvist constructed an imagined world for her protagonist, Florentine Stein, that captivates my attention and elicits compassion for this inanimate woman. A former prima ballerina, Florentine is a graceful, tiny old woman. She is also a doll.

There is a saying among dancers that “a dancer dies twice.” Before they leave this world, a piece of them dies when they retire their pointe shoes. Florentine has already died once and lives among her memories of a life on stage. Photographed in Blomqvist’s meticulously crafted sets of ornate theaters, rehearsal halls, and once-grand rooms, Florentine teaches ballet to mice, attends fantastical parties, and daydreams at home. Each scene evokes the lighting and color palette of 19th-century Scandinavian paintings. Florentine’s rooms are filled with old newspapers and peeling wallpaper, reminiscent of Miss Havisham’s home in Great Expectations.

Blomqvist trusts her audience to find the line between reality and fantasy. She is not trying to trick us into believing that Florentine’s world is real, nor does she depend solely on the doll to draw empathy from the audience. Instead, Blomqvist offers a heartbreakingly beautiful glimpse into an old woman’s memories, distorted through filters of time, imagination, and longing. Florentine’s expression is unchanging and her poses stiff. It is through Blomqvist’s masterful lighting and compositions that she breathes life into the doll to tell a truly human story of aging and melancholic nostalgia for youth.

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