tempting fate

it's been overcast all day, and i embarked upon a somewhat tedious project in an attempt to battle the ennui, scanning photographs of an art project i completed while moderately deranged one rainy Manhattan day in September 1999. there are no overhead lights in my living room, Elliott Smith was playing on the stereo, and i couldn't help but feel the moping teenage thrill of indiscretion and melancholia.

among the photos was a (self-)portrait of the artist as a young man, aged 22 years and covered in red paint, focusing a hand-me-down Canon into a reflection that refused to look back. this young man in the picture was one of the li(v)es, that day was one of the deaths, although i did not recognize or embrace it then.

the survival of the document is impressive, that of the artist likewise, but most astounding of all is the unflinching courage of mirrors as they bear witness, watching us stumble through the lives we leave behind.