It started with a strip of mylar. We played with it and made shapes, shadows, and even distortions. It reminded me of the old Ovid story of Narcissus and the young man completely entranced by his own reflection. It was a distortion, really, as all our perceptions can be. Colored by our experiences and the images of what we think is before us. We throw that word around so much..Narcissus, claiming that it isn’t us who has the problem. Buy maybe we do, or do to a point. All our views of ourselves are distorted and we shut out those voices trying to connect with us. A distant echo that cannot find us.
