Skip to content

Posts tagged ‘Portland’

Jul 17

1 Comment

on reflections in the glass, self-portraits

Occasionally there I am, hiding behind the viewfinder of the camera, not hiding well, I might add, sometimes distorted by the light and darkness of the glass. I catch my self in a reflection from a window.

Vivian Maier, the street photographer, who died unknown, took self-portraits well and with humor.

Later, after her death when John Maloof discovered boxes of her photographs at an action, undeveloped, a book dedicated to her self-portraits was published.

I look around my apartment and I see one passport photo sticking out from a book; I am using it as a book marker. If I pull out my driver’s license, I see what I looked like a few years ago. I have no other photographs of myself in the apartment.

It is not uncommon to see someone on the street, holding up a smart phone, and taking a selfie. Friends who gather do it. Family members capture that moment with their phones. (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.)

But wait, there’s more!

Feb 26

on reflections in the glass

The senses deceive from time to time, and it is prudent never to trust wholly those who have deceived us even once.  –Rene Descartes

On the other hand, movies are inherently constructions, with the capacity to fabricate. “Blow Out” has already lied to us by opening with an elaborate fake-out: a sequence from the point of view of a slasher stalking coeds that turns out to be a film within the film.  –“Don’t Get What Makes Brian De Palma an Auteur? Try These Two Films,” New York Times

Serious thought or consideration: he doesn’t get much time for reflection. An idea about something, especially one that is written down or expressed: reflections on human destiny and art.  –Reflection

The act of reflecting, as in casting back a light or heat, mirroring, or giving back or showing an image; the state of being reflected in this way. An image; representation; counterpart.  –Reflection

When my days pass, each one I recognize. My neighborhood seems the same, more or less. My routines change but the days appear the same. I reflect back, and I am sometimes not sure which day was which.

I have seen a word in the context of a text and looked again; it was not the word I had seen, or thought I had seen. Somehow my mind had suggested one word, but I discovered a second or two later that it was not the actual word on the page. I saw the word “excellent,” for example, but on the page was “excitement.”

Once, the name “Sherlock,” as in Sherlock Holmes, seemed odd, truly impossible as a name. “Holmes” was all right. That seemed correct. But “Sherlock” was alien. It was if I had never heard the word before. I have been reading the “Adventure of Sherlock Holmes” stories since I was a kid.

I remember when the clever Perry Mason pulled into court a look-alike of his client to test a witness’s veracity. In another case, a witness did not divulge that she wore glasses when she saw the suspect commit the crime.  (Click on any photo to see it larger and in more detail. Cliquez sur une vignette pour l’agrandir.) But wait, there’s more!