The gun, the camera, the bullet and the photograph

It is, at last, some future of my father’s face, that stares back at me from the mirror. But it is, and it has always been, some future of my mother’s eyes, that sees and understands this.

It is with my father’s projection of face that I explore and penetrate the world. But it is with my mother’s projections of heart and sense that I draw them into intimacy within me.