A passing mirror

 ORIGINAL PICTURE

Author: @Dr_Mice_ / Twitter - Pixiv

I said to a friend that this reminds me of them, but I wonder if I only said it because they remind me of myself. Mirrors are a wonderous thing in art, the first time I was called to them was in Velazquez “Las Meninas”, not as much for how it turn the viewer into a king, the detail will almost always pass me by without much care, but rather how it makes me feel observed, as if I’m being stopped by the art and being forced to acknowledge how alive it is; but while Velazquez canvas it’s bursting with the movement of their characters, Dr_Mice_ would rather freeze and instant that will be lost in the routine of daily life.

In plain text, the blond character, main point of the piece is watching us through the screen, reaching with silent worry and (just like Velazquez work) the contrast of knowing those eyes to merely be a suggestion of humanity, them staring at us makes us part of the piece. We are now trapped on the same frozen frame, our mind now seeks for a new identity. We find it. In a mirror, other movement of the hand a suggestion that point at us, but instead we just find a tired slim body. They don't concern themselves with their observer and such distant lack of intent forces us back into ourselves once again, our mind unable to find an anchor now wanders in the suggestion of a mirror, in our memories. 

When was the last time that you felt seen? When were you frozen by knowing someone else holds you in their mind with that caring worry? I constantly forget my own existence, my mind already used to blurring my nose so it doesn’t get in the way of the window that allows me to take a peek into the world, my hands doing the menial tasks of living without my acknowledgement and at some point of the day I will walk past a mirror and be forced to see the stranger that is living my life and be forced to remember that I exist. In that moment I will inspect my own face, my clothes and try to find me in the image of a body I cannot feel mine. Not even in front of a mirror I can feel seen if I do so through my eyes.

Then, scrolling through the never ending feed of content I find this picture, I find myself, a unsuspicious tall figure looking away from themselves, and I can’t but feel my soul smiling at the idea that I’m being seen by my partner from the bed, their worried stare filled with love through the window of my eyes and… the image fills with movement, meaning. I feel the cold of the room, the burning smoke on my throat, the freezing air coming from the window unable to reach me. When was the last time that someone saw me? One always makes sure to keep a mask that changes with the slightest push, such performance is not a way to hide ourselves but a piece of the complex relationships of meaning and desire glued together to form what we stubbornly want to call “self”.

The light outside the room is so bright that it makes me look away. Yet, I’m still smoking, unable to move, my eyes seek for my blond partner but she keeps watching me worried, and no matter how much I want to smile at them my emotions will never reach them.

The self is trapped in the flesh of our body, forced to move without much of a saying on the matter, because one must keep the mask of life, one must eat and pay bills, one must achieve the great things in live, one must find oneself a reason to matter and such a thing is suggested in a million windows to lifes that we will never live but that temps us to believe that it is another piece of yourself, and we take it, wanting it or not, knowing it or not.

This picture talks to us about the distance betwen us and the soul that is hidden under so many layers of movements, desires and meanings that we are unable to know where to begin and where to end. The simple answer is that we will never be able to truly see the full being that is the “self”, the moment we know what we desire our hearts will start craving the skin of a new body, our heartbeat will be toyed with by another dream. We will always see a frozen frame of a routine we have forgotten keeps on going even if we are not always on the wheel, our eyes are a window into the world of our lives. 

This picture gives me nostalgia for a life I have never seen, a life I’ll never live… but I know it's there somewhere and I can only hope to find it someday in a passing mirror.