My own interlocutor
A solitary conversation
My photographic self-portraits are made in solitude. There is no crew, no assistant, no one standing behind the camera except myself. The process often evokes a profound sense of loneliness, yet it is a loneliness I need. It creates a space in which I can come closer to myself than I can in everyday life.
When I work, it feels as though I am in conversation with myself. The presence of my mind within my body becomes almost tangible. I am both the observer and the observed; the photographer and the subject. Sometimes it feels as if I am my own interlocutor, asking questions that cannot easily be answered.
This solitude is not unfamiliar to me. It echoes a loneliness I experienced as a teenager when I was excluded and bullied at school. Being left out was painful. There was sadness in it, and the desire to belong. Yet there was another side to that experience. Outside the group, I discovered a space that was entirely my own. I spent time alone, thinking, observing, imagining, and talking to myself. In that isolation, I became intimately acquainted with my inner world. It felt good. Something I needed.
When I make self-portraits today, I sometimes recognize that same state of mind. The solitude is different now. It is chosen rather than imposed. Yet it brings me to a similar place; a place where I am close to myself. The camera becomes part of that encounter.
I never begin with a fixed concept. The images emerge intuitively, almost without conscious thought. Yet while making them, an internal voice keeps questioning me. Why this image? Why this gesture? Why this expression? What am I trying to reveal?
The conversation becomes confrontational because there is nowhere to hide. Am I making these images to see myself more clearly, or am I making them to be seen by others? Am I searching for recognition, understanding, or simply evidence of my own existence?
The self-portrait is both a mirror and a question. It allows me to look at myself while simultaneously questioning who is doing the looking. In that solitary dialogue, every image becomes a trace of an encounter; not only between photographer and subject, but between different parts of myself.
Perhaps that is why I continue to make these photographs. They return me to a familiar place: alone, questioning, observing, and listening. Not to escape myself, but to meet myself.
(Selfportrait: A house is not a home)