The less of me, the more of you

Have you ever noticed something about my self-portraits?

Maybe not at first.

Look again.

In many of them, something is missing. Sometimes it’s only a head. Only a body. An arm. A back. A leg. As if I’m gradually removing pieces of myself from the frame.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized this wasn’t a coincidence. My favorite self-portraits are almost always the ones that leave something out. A body without a head. A head without a body. Something like that.

Perhaps, without even realizing it, I’ve been guided by a single question: How much - or how little - of myself do I need to show in order to say something universal?

The more specifically I portray myself, the harder it becomes for the viewer to make the image their own. Sometimes you have to remove information to add meaning. Maybe that’s why I instinctively leave out anything that might keep someone from entering the photograph.

The less of me you see, the more room there is for you.

That may sound strange, but when I make a self-portrait, I’m rarely thinking about myself.

I’m thinking about an image.

A question.

A story.

A story that begins with me, but doesn’t have to be about me.

My body is often nothing more than the material I use to tell that story. An arm. A back. A leg. Each becomes part of the visual language.

Years ago, I had an exhibition titled Subject versus Object. I think I understand that title better now than I did then. Or perhaps I simply understand more clearly what I already felt.

When I make a self-portrait, I’m the one deciding where your eyes will go. I choose what is revealed and what remains hidden. The moment I appear in the image, I seem to become the one being looked at. Yet it’s precisely outside the frame that I have the greatest influence.

That’s where I am the director.

The storyteller.

The voice.

Perhaps I am most present when I am least visible.

I don’t think this applies only to photography. I think it also applies to writing. To music. To film. Perhaps even to love.

Sometimes, the greatest gift you can give another person is not showing all of yourself.

I don’t disappear from my photographs.

I simply make room.

I’ve never tried to hide.

Only to make room for you to enter.

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