private view - a collection of self portraits
the illusion of presence
The photographer lies. Or, the man lies and makes an impression. He is thinking of nothing but the cold of his hands, outstretched in idle semaphor. R is for rigor and riddle-me-ree... An image forms. A risen space! A volume of shadows! The wonder of it: the illusion of presence that comes from inside us. But the man is uncertain. Finds the elation hard to accept, the image a hard one to swallow again.
I have spent so long in covering my tracks with the self portrait that I don't plan to make this statement a route-map. I don't do self portraits as a rule. When I take a photo, at the best of times, I often feel that the self has disappeared - "negative capability" as Keats called something like it. I don't try to impose my self on what I see. As to the face in the mirror, quite what relationship that has to my self, I don't know, but at least, in seeing it, I can be sure each time that it's the same old self, wearing away.