Skip to main content

Photos & Mirrors

Today was a wildly successful photo adventure with the vivacious Shelly. It was the first time I'd pulled out  my SLR since moving to Toronto, and a great warm-up for my photo shoot with a friend and her fiance on Thanksgiving weekend!

I've uploaded my top pics onto Flickr, but I would also like to pause for a second and share some thoughts on these self portraits. In each one, I'm intentionally difficult to see, incomplete. I think this captures a profound insight into identity and self.

Photo #1
There is so much going on here that it's difficult to pick the pieces apart. Can you tell what is reflection and what is "real"? There is place, clothing, colour, movement...it's so rich! And that's the reality of life. I exist in chaos. Beautiful, overlapping, complex chaos.


Photo #2
Here you can see my reflection quite clearly. But you know what? It's such a small section of mirror, one part of a larger mosaic. You can only see part of my face and one hand, in the same way that glimpses into who I am come in tiny snippets, quick moments and unexpected spaces.


 Photo #3
Although the third photo captures me from head to toe, it's not coherent. I'm fully visible, and yet not. The pieces don't fit together, and somehow my face is missing. Other parts of me are duplicated. I'm wholly there, but what you see is fractured.

And that's all I've got to say about that.



It's also important to note that we stumbled upon garage sale alley, and for the low, low total of $2, I got two cake pans, a wicker basket, and a melamine sugar/creamer set!

Comments

  1. I love your photo self portraits. There are several awesome messages/truths there which I am tempted to borrow for future use. (with your permission of course) And your garage sale purchase - sweet- especially the melamine!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...