Sometimes I look at the strange arrangements of these naps, and I imagine them in an art installation. Sure, people with a classical bent may say that this is just, you know, like a picture of a bunch of soup cans. A Walmart rug. A cheap sofa bed.
The genius is in the details, though. See how the subject is arranged in a fetal position, lightly draped, evoking a return to the womb and celebrating all things feminine. See how this motherly scene constrasts with the embarrassing big-box store carpet and the scattering of material possessions in the left-hand border of the photo.
And who is perceptive enough to spot the older child standing on the fringes of the pillow-sculpture? What does it mean? Is the artist making a commentary on the inevitability that all sons will eventually leave the organic safety of the mother (earth?) and become materialistic men?
I’m too exhausted by the possibilities. Please excuse me while I take a quick nap.