i wrote once about mirrors. and about the version of ourselves we might leave behind in them. in a room of old mirrors like this one, i was struck again by that thought. there was some magic in that faded, decaying but once grand room. and somehow it felt like you could catch a glimpse of its former glory if you looked just right into the mirrors.
so i took a lot of photos of the mirrors. hoping to capture that moment. that glimpse of the gateway to memories not my own. so present in the air, yet so inaccessible. palpable yet elusive. the air was heavy with magic in that place. it felt so empty and abandoned, but full. i had the feeling we had to whisper and the feeling that there was whispering all around me...silks rustling, voices, music..there but also just out of earshot. it was there somehow, to be glimpsed in the mirrors if you caught the right angle.
so i looked for the angle. at the light. at the puddles of black where the silvery backing is falling away. and i listened. and i imagined i could glimpse all who floated past those mirrors over the decades. and it felt like touching magic.
