On being there, or on taking self-effacing selfies

sel·fie | ˈselfē | (also selfy) noun (plural selfies) informal
“a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically one taken with a smartphone or webcam and shared via social media: occasional selfies are acceptable, but posting a new picture of yourself everyday isn’t necessary.”

self-ef·fac·ing | ˈˌself əˈfāsiNG | adjective
“not claiming attention for oneself; retiring and modest: his demeanor was self-effacing, gracious, and polite.”

re·flec·tion | rəˈflekSH(ə)n | noun
“1. the throwing back by a body or surface of light, heat, or sound without absorbing it: the reflection of light.  2. an image seen in a mirror or shiny surface: Marianne surveyed her reflection in the mirror.”

I do not take selfies with my smart phone. I have yet to point a smart phone my way, when I am alone or when others are nearby, and have not snapped and—voilà—a moment was captured.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

When I think of selfies, I think of an extra-ordinary moment, one that I find amusing every time, that occurs whenever I visit the room in the Louvre where one sees the Mona Lisa.

People must line up and follow a path, partitioned by ropes, before reaching the head of the line. There the tourists will take photos of the Mona Lisa, or they will turn their backs to her, lift their smart phones, and take pictures over their shoulders of themselves with the Mona Lisa behind them.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

I find it amusing because they are pointing their cameras in the right direction, when they turn their backs, but at the wrong painting. In the same room as the Mona Lisa, but on the opposite far wall, is one of the most astonishing paintings in the Louvre—The Wedding Feast of Cana by Veronese.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

The tourists are looking in that direction, when they turn their backs on the Mona Lisa, but they are not seeing that painting. It is the largest canvas in the Louvre museum, but they do not see it.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

I have looked at the photographs of Vivian Meier. I have seen the documentary about her, and during a recent trip to Paris in September, 2020, I went twice to an exhibit of her work at the Luxembourg Gardens Museum.

I mention this because she was quite good at taking photos of herself with her box camera and then later her Leica. She would catch her reflection in glass and mirrors and sometimes as a shadow.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

Once you have found her in the photo though, your attention is drawn to other aspects of the photograph. She is a cameo in her shot. What surrounds her? Where is she? From a technical standpoint, one asks, “How did she do that?”

Alfred Hitchcock took selfies, sort of. He made cameo appearances in his films. You blink and you will miss him. He is the man getting on the train in Strangers on a Train. In a grey suit, walking across a street with a trumpet case, he appears briefly in Vertigo.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

Sometimes, when I take a photograph with me in it, a self-effacing selfie, I am like “Where’s Waldo?” Or, as they say in England, “Where’s Wally?” Where’s Michael?

Each photograph here contains a self image somewhere. A selfie. But I am self-effacing sometimes and hide, obscured sometimes by the tricks of the camera.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

The images were taken in 2021 and 2022 in Paris, Portland, Marseille, and Antibes.