Picture in the mirror

“Whenever I thought I knew where I was or where I was going, I changed course, automatically, without being explicit with myself about what I was doing. Like some kind of amoeba that consistently, determinedly avoided coming into contact with …

With what? Knowledge of itself?

Knowledge of its actual whereabouts or destination?

Why?”

Excerpt from Diary of an Analysand

I was given a small mirror in the form of a book at the airport the other day in the perfume shop. It was a free gift. I put it in the drawer next to my desk. Feeling chirpy this morning, I took it out and admired the look and feel of it. I flicked it open and caught sight of the lower part of my face and was utterly horrified – the bottom of my face is all fat and flabby I have a double chin like a spare tyre, and as if that wasn’t disgraceful enough I have the beginning of whiskers coming through! I felt as if I was looking at a rodent. An oversized, bemused rodent. Like some character from the Wind in the Willows or another children’s’ story.

OK, so part of me is an ugly animal. That’s life. Accepting the horrific aspects of ourselves. Any part of anyone can be made to look repulsive or attractive depending on the angle of the view, the distance, the predisposition of the looker, the intention and the art of the producer of the image.

What is the relationship between photograph and mirror? I find myself repulsive in photographs, when I first see them. Then I look at the same photographs years later and find my image somehow pleasing.

As a young woman I remember wrangling with self-image and finally arriving at acceptance; I breathed a sigh of relief saying to myself “your face is OK”. The next day I looked in the mirror and saw the first signs of ageing.

Many years ago I had a recurring nightmare. I dreamt I woke up in a panic and tried to switch on the light. It wouldn’t work. I panicked more, then effectively woke up. I had to sleep with the light on, and found this intensely annoying. So intensely annoying that I stared long and hard at myself in the mirror and told myself to stop it. It worked.