Until very recently, I hated photos of myself. I could always find something wrong with them, or rather, with me. Bad hair, double chin; too many wrinkles, wrong shade of lipstick. In fact, before the release of How to Share an Egg last winter, I stayed behind the camera as much as possible, taking photos and using my Instagram account to document what I was looking at — mostly food, with bits of art and nature thrown in. Weaned on Laura Mulvey and feminist film theory in the late 80s, I didn’t ...