THE BODY IS BURIED in animal flesh. A russet field of ground beef surrounds sensuous folds of blue velvet. It is the hour before decomposition begins. The glowing, moist field will turn dark and crusty, as the oxygen molecules in the room begin to invade the bits of fat and muscle. Yet the appearance of the torn tissue is far from the violence that made it. Its color is not bloody; the stench is gone. A muted calm overwhelms the grim evidence. Although the event is over, we see it still. Death is arrested as the enemy approaches—and it is a photograph.
—Sandy Skoglund
