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Self reflection and contemplation |
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Mirrors (Geen titel) Ripened green branches entangled the Ionic shaped ballustrades that witnessed the blessings and cursings of that gloomy and decaying lofty house, that was erected in an indefinable epoc and standing as a bleachy statue amongst it's very similar neighbours. Or at least from a first glance similar, for some houses, like persons, might look very common, very ordinary, but a closer look (or a closer feeling is a more effective comparision) gives an increasing unpleasant feeling, repressing the heart, evoking that something is completely ajar..... The same matter was definately noticed by the few passants that hastened to or back from work, maybe realy slowing down their steps for an instant, but soon after not witstanding the urge to fleed from the almost unmeasurable thickening of the air, the atmosphere, that wrapped as a colorless blanket the walls and facades of that particular house. The hallways, corridors and endless curving high-ceiled passages inside bare the idea of both wondering, curiosity or for some mere anxity, for actualy no one can enter these voits staying indifferent. The raising and setting sunlight during the hours of days set the whole interiors in a spectre shifting from blueish white to violet red. The nights following run through the same sort of palet from which the colors were not even definable. Every wall that marked the edges of the spaces, which can not be considered as rooms even, were covered by mirrors in all varieties as they could exist: oval shaped, having the appearance of cream colored pearls; the oblong ones, as paintings done by artists that were masters in the shades of white and grey; the boudoirlike ones, as round forest lakes, reflecting the firnament above them..... On few of them the carefull observer would distiguish a slight distortion in the reflections of these portals to other worlds; entire universes on their own, and even very faint discolorings in the silver shining surfaces that causes to the observer, who obvious expexts to see a perfectly mirrored reality, a barely noticable malfercation of their being, their faces or even their movements. In such a way as if not staring to oneself but to a resembling twin brother or sister, not unlike the feeling one has when confronted with portrait photos taken only a year or so ago, but by comparing these with the appearance of the recent unmistakable the signs of proceeding life are encarved in the skin. More worse are those in which the unwarned spectator sees into the depths and unfamiliar reflections are thrown back; compositions of flowers beyond the flora ever encountered; of silver and golden framed memories accompaigned by the monotone whispering sounds of waves rolling on far away beaches; of vague flashes, changing over and over, of sweet intense odeurs of childhood, in a dreamy birds perspective drifting over sloping and rising streets and silhouets of decaying cities..... But the most horrorfying of all (or the most relieving, decided by one's nature) is the one mirror in the corner of the attick corridor towards everyone dwelling around in the house, by a unavoidable force, like when trying to wake up admidst a dream but not managing, is driven, absorbed, mesmerized to hold in front of the silverly perfect oval shape. Gazing in it only a misty and cloudy nothingness is seen; no face staring back as if one didn't exist and life floates by unaffected..... |
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