Columbus, Mississippi

Self-portraits are a little like dreams for me. I like to analyze them for the tiny clues they contain. A lot of times, when I don’t know what’s wrong, a self-portrait will act as a guide, showing me what I’m not seeing.

This image was the first one I shot when I walked on this train, though I can easily see that without looking at the contact sheet. It is stronger compositionally — an image taken by a photographer. Or perhaps a writer. My hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail; my bag is still slung across my shoulder. The mirror hasn’t tripped me out — not yet anyway.

The girl in this image is facing it head on, shooting to kill, even as she cleverly places the actual “bullet hole” over her body. Were it not intentional, she would have made certain her head was centered with the room. No. This was a conscious admission of everything the mirror has meant, as well as everything it means on this bright Saturday morning.

There will be later shots and the brave facade will crumble. But for the moment at least, the huntress has her quarry trapped, locked within the silvery environs of memory.

Music: Falling by Alicia Keys (lyrics)