My father was a monster. My mother was my shield. We danced around his abuse for years. Finding bruises on our skin purple and red and blue. He hit her the most. He hurt her the most. She protected us the most. She protected herself the least. My father was a monster. My mother was my shield. He would huff and he would puff and we would hide under the beds and cover our ears. Hopefully the big bad wolf could not quite hear our tears. She stood tall and built us a wall to protect us from the big bad wolf. First with straw, that he just broke down with ease. Then with sticks, which held up for a while, but still he managed to break down. After many years she built a wall for us with bricks, a sturdy wall, to keep the big bad wolf out. He couldn’t get to us, but we could still hear his voice as he tormented us with cruel insults. He turned our safe space into a cage, trapping us in, never really being able to escape. My father was a monster. My mother was my shield. His claws were still in us, the scars are still there, we will never be rid of him. We try to forget, try not to think about it, but he left marks on us that run deep. The type of scars that won’t ever fade. There is no running away from the big bad wolf. -Glynis Leski

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little girls in places and spaces where they don’t belong is Leski’s first solo exhibition. This fall, she will be entering her 4th year in the Photography Studies program at Ryerson University’s School of Image Arts. Leski is currently based in Toronto, ON.