Artist Blog

Every week an artist whose single image was published by Der Greif is given a platform in which to blog about contemporary photography.


Oct 03, 2019 - Elizabeth Hibbard

When I was four, I picked up my grandmother’s cat, George, a bit too roughly probably, and he bit me in the cheek; four clean puncture wounds to the inside of my mouth. Aunt Mary lived with my grandmother still, she never moved out, and was a hoarder. A small area was cleared on the formica countertop and from a shelf brimming with orange prescription bottles, a dark glass bottle of strange smelling amber liquid was applied to my wound. 


I felt doubly betrayed by my grandmother being the source of the painful stinging, and was confused and fearful of the brownish, unfamiliar, and like many things in my grandmother’s house, impossibly old and decay laden, liquid. It was a long time until I knew what it was, and the smell and sting and sense that it was the opposite of anything clean and sterile has always lingered.


My father used to clean the counters with rubbing alcohol. The smell still makes me nauseous and fearful but at least you know the counter is really, truly clean. We didn’t keep iodine bottles around the house like at my grandma’s.