HELLO, IT’S ME

By MICHAEL PERKINS

Through his nightmare vision, he sees nothing, only well
Blind with the beggar’s mind, he’s but a stranger
He’s but a stranger to himself– Steve Winwood / Jim Capaldi

NEEDLESS DISCLAIMER DEPT: THE SELF-ABSORPTION OF HUMANS IS NOTHING NEW. Still, by itself, it can’t completely account for the virtual tsunami of photographic self-portraits that has flooded the cosmos over the last generation. Due mostly to the cell phone revolution, snapping yourself has never been technically easier. Additionally, the instant feedback of the digital era has allowed us ample opportunity to experiment, quickly and over a wider spectrum of results, making for more keepers, which, in turn, makes for more attempts, which….well, you get it.

What hasn’t always kept up, in the age of photographic narcissism, is how well we actually know our subject…that is, ourselves. You’d think that a lifetime of living inside our skin would give us a decided advantage on how to present ourselves effectively or honestly in an image, but you’d be wrong. I certainly can deliver a passable version of myself on those rare occasions when I try, although over the last decade I am making a lot fewer attempts, perhaps because I see such a chasm between what I’d like to look like and what I must, actually, look like to others.

The shot you see here is my first take on a “me” shot in about eight months’ time. This selfie drought is due in part to the fact that I’ve moved to a new town, and there is so much new stuff out there to shoot that I haven’t felt the need to turn the camera around. It’s also a measure of how “over it” I am with seeing my own visions of myself come up short. And, of course, there’s also the possibility that I am just not that fascinating a subject to begin with (hold your applause) and that I am naturally drawn to more compelling subject matter. It’s just really odd, this strange state of knowing so little about how to visually interpret the same clown you’ve seen in the mirror since you were tall enough to reach over the sink. Are all selfies partially true? Mostly lies? Interpretive delusions we’ve sold ourselves? Stark reminders of our limits or fragility? All of the above?

I see one hand raised in the back. Let’s you and I have a coffee and talk it over.

The rest of you are dismissed.