1999
Cast iron, glass
When Narcissus admired his reflection in the pond, he did not see through the surface of the water to the bottom of the pond. He saw into the surface—that is, into this wafer-thin two-dimensional film that separates the water from the air—this “skin” of the water—and beneath this supposed surface, in a space that is not the water of the pond, he saw just as three-dimensionally as if he were beholding his twin brother—not himself, but his image.
But what if Narcissus isn’t gazing at his reflection in the pond, but rather at the bird that’s just flying over the pond, or the treetops on the opposite shore—does the water’s surface hold all these images within it, making it an all-encompassing, three-dimensional film in real time? What does a mirror show when we aren’t looking into it?
And when we take a closer look—and when we consider the infinite number of film sequences and possible images that have ever been seen reflected in the pond’s surface—don’t we also have to question our linear concept of time?
… until the next gust of wind, and then the image is gone.
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