Sunday, 11 October 2026

The Stranger at the Front.

I've always had difficulty accepting that the face I see in the mirror and in photographs is actually my face. It doesn't look like the face I see when I imagine myself (which I do quite a lot because I'm always standing apart and watching myself, but always from behind or above so I don't get a direct look at my face.) There's something wrong with it and I've never worked out what it is, although I do sometimes I wonder whether it's a real human face at all.

Leaving such extreme speculation apart, however, it leads to the uncomfortable feeling that whoever sculpted my face was but a learner in the matter of sculpting faces, and either accepted that a poor result was better than no result at all and gave up, or threw away his attempt and replaced it with one he'd found on somebody else's reject pile. Whichever it was, the face I was given doesn't look like me. And it looks ever less like me the older I get.

Nobody ever mentioned the fact.

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