November 10, 2001

A young woman is sitting by an ornamental lake.
To her left a large pendulous plant with long narrow leaves
dominates the middle distance.
Its leaves trail in the water which shows only the slightest ripple.
Behind her, two whitish-coloured birds have alighted
and are frolicking on a pathway.
It is a tranquil scene. A calm, sunny day in late Spring.

The lake is edged with flagstones.
The young woman's sandalled feet extend slightly over the water.
She is wearing jeans and has drawn her legs up almost to her chest.
Her arms rest loosely on either side of her knees.
Her right hand softly clasps her left just above her ankles.
What appears to be a bracelet is just visible below the cuff of her windcheater.

The photographer has captured a moment of quiet contemplation.
The woman is staring fixedly at something just outside our range of view.
Her eyes are intelligent and have a questing look.
Her brows are wide, and from over her high forehead her blonde hair falls,
curling where it meets her shoulders.
Her neckline is long, her chin and jaw are striking and determined.
Her mouth displays the faintest glimmer of a smile.

But there is not just one young woman but two in this photograph.
Her image has been repeated, reflected in the water of the lake.

If we turn the photograph upside down
we see what at first seems to be the same person.
But the pendulous plant is now to her right and, quite remarkably,
there are no birds visible frolicking in the background.
Instead there are three, or possibly four, unadorned broad stone columns framing a view of a metal fence with a blur of trees in the distance.
It is still a sylvan scene but it now wears a sense of menace.

In the slight distortion brought about by the gentle rippling of the water
the young woman's demeanour has been transformed completely.
Her head now declines markedly to the left.
She seems hunched and insecure.
Her eyes are vague and apprehensive, perhaps recently tearful.
Her mouth is set in a grimace of anguish.

The level flagstones have become a slight slope
on which her stability no longer seems so certain.
It looks as if she might have sought solace there.
But everything is filled with uncertainty.

I am drawn to the young woman's image with a compulsion
which I cannot quite crystallize.
She seems incredibly familiar as if I had once known her in my past.

Suddenly I realize she is my daughter.