16 April 2008
Book of Blue: An Inner Window
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Fae from Book of Blue. Photo by Eric Francis.
WE HUMANS have a complex relationship with the Mirror. In these strange devices, it’s as if we’re haunted by a spirit of ourselves peering in from another dimension.
Yet who is this mysterious Other, in the psychic sense? Is it an image of the ego? Is it an opposite rendition of who we are? Is the appearance of this other an invitation to make friends?
This is my basic philosophy—the Other is calling us; calling us home, into ourselves. It is perhaps our most complex journey through our most challenging relationship.
We all know that we can use relationships with others as a means of forgetting ourselves, or of avoiding a more direct relationship with ourselves. Yet even when we are totally subsumed in a partner, that mirror is there. Usually we catch a fleeting glance, or keep ourselves busy with makeup or our hair, never really relating.
We tend to respond to it as if we expect others to respond to us: as if we are not there. Our relationships with mirrors tends to be less like that of Narcissus in his pond, and more like an insect walking on the surface of water.
Book of Blue is a journey into ourselves, beneath the surface of the water, looking for the spirit in the mirror. My name is Eric Francis. I’ve photographed women searching their gaze in about 10 countries over the past three years. The photo above is Fae from New York State, who participates in Book of Blue projects on an ongoing basis.
Fae is 20, a Leo with a Gemini Moon.
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Somewhere, there is a Book of Blue.
Wandering deep into the trees and up a slight hillside, I came across the remnants of an old campsite. There was a tarp covered by layers of leaves, but still visible, dark green. The camp kitchen was still there, in a shambles—an ancient gas stove, a Sigg bottle that remarkably had a few drops of white fuel still in it, several aluminum pots, some utensils, all pitted and rusty. Nearby was a little garbage hole that was filled with beer cans and bottles. It was like had someone walked away one day and forgot that any of it was there. That scenario would fit well with the stories and home movies I’ve seen of the place, which start around the time that the first Woodstock festival came through in the summer of 1969.
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