Beatles Girls, redux

I've expanded "Beatles Girls, Where Have You Gone?" into a video essay up now at TriQuarterly Online:

Beatles Girl won’t go away; she confounds my attempts to understand her. I picture my sentences orbiting the photo, looking for a seam, a way in. An essay about Beatles Girl stymies autobiography—it’s not me, it’s you, I want to tell her. Yet my search for meaning in her expression reveals something about me as well. I’m not simply attempting a biography of a photo; I’m implicated in a pursuit that began in my parents’ basement all those years ago, when as a Beatles nut I devoured the oversized book in which she appears, always drawn back to her after I’d turn the page, the “Red Album” providing the score in the background. She’s sobbing a kind of foreign language. I wonder about her, and also about the ways, and maybe the reasons why, I’ve been tattooed.