My favourite novel is The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. While slightly controversial, the book captures a part of growing up that isn’t frequently discussed, as a girl. It’s a dirtiness; scabs on our knees, soil under our fingernails, purple and yellow bruises on our hips. They’re elements of a very physical, natural state of being and it’s recognized, in the story, as beautiful. My copy of The Virgin Suicides features a cover photo that portrays this feeling perfectly.

I was curious whether the photo was shot solely for the book, as it didn’t look story-specific. I did some research and learned the photo was part of a photography collection by Justine Kurland, titled Girl Pictures. After I purchased it, I completely understood why Eugenides chose to feature a photo from this series.

All of Kurland’s photos reflect this idea of beautiful filth – a celebration of youthful femininity that is raw and unrefined. They feature the female body in settings or positions and are very isolated from the rest of the world. I can divide Kurland’s photos into three categories: the natural, the man-made, and the mixture. 

The Natural 

Set in fields and rivers, the natural photos are Eden-like, but still contain that grimy element. In one photo, for example, two girls are pondside, while one picks leeches off the other’s back.

I find leeches so disgusting, but I wasn’t repulsed when looking at this photo. The scene seemed peaceful and sacred even, like a part of growing up I never experienced but always knew existed. Kurland’s natural settings remind me of how far we’ve removed ourselves from nature, portraying a world where humans are just a part of the landscape. Similarly, another photo I was drawn to was of girls swimming in a river, their bodies blending into the untouched environment.

It feels so far removed from civilization. After seeing this photo, I tried to convince my friends to recreate the scene, but they were worried about E. Coli in our town’s dirty runoff water, and ruined my fun. Though they brought me down to reality, Kurland’s pictures are a great substitute for the real thing. 

The Man-Made

Kurland’s photos in man-made settings evoke a different kind of dirtiness – they’re germy, sticky, cruddy. My favourite photo of the whole collection is one where girls are changing in a public restroom.

Seeing a girl sitting on the bathroom floor feels both wrong and strangely empowering. It’s a part of growing up that I’d forgotten about - the invincibility. A girl feeling comfortable enough to be bare-skinned on restroom tile, because the worst thing she can get is a wart. It’s an aloofness that only teenagers can possess, having faced no real consequences yet. Another photo that took me back was one of two girls drinking at the back of a Toys R Us.

It’s trashy - your older self, corrupting a place of innocence like a toy store, your childhood bedroom, or your old elementary school. This corruption is something common amongst suburban kids, where familiar places become locations for experimentation, and it felt right that Kurland included this phenomenon in her collection. I appreciate that Kurland didn’t glamorize it like many coming-of-age movies. Seeing her models visibly distraught makes me reflect on my memories of that guilt and regret.

The Mixture

The photos that blend the natural and manmade are where Kurland most captures this apocalyptic feel. In this category, the girls inhabit these deteriorating human structures, claiming them as theirs.

Top: Kung Fu Fighters, 1999

Bottom: Shipwrecked, 2000

These photos reinforce my belief that humans are their most real in isolation; without expectations of society weighing on us and pressuring us, we’re free to just exist. This specifically aligns with ideas of escaping the patriarchy for me. I don’t know if Kurland intended to imply that the only way women can get out is to grow up in a world that everyone’s disappeared from. However, the apocalyptic setting forces me to pose that question. I also love the element of decay. Morality and change are what allow the idea of “girlhood” to exist, and I think it’s romanticized because it’s a display of fresh life. When Kurland juxtaposes this life with decomposition, it brings out the impermanence of this stage and reminds us that girlhood is either passing us by or has passed us by already.

Art pieces that I really connect with are few and far between. But Girl Pictures was so formidable that it changed my view on my own experience. I hate the term “girlhood” now – it’s too bubble-gum for the stage of life it represents. Kurland’s collection is the first I’ve seen that captured the fullness and duality of what it means to grow into a woman. I used to either romanticize or bury that stage of my life, but her series forced me to see it as it actually happened: gritty and lawless and wonderful.

All photos © Justine Kurland