my father's mirror
He hates people being in his house, and was horrified when he saw that I had a camera. I lied and said I was fiddling with the settings and had no idea how to use it yet, and snapped quite a few shots on the sly.
The fact is, my father lives in filth and as a kid I would go visit him and clean his house. It would drive him batty and he would yell at me to stop. Even as a small child I knew it wasn't right and someone had to HELP him. Decades of growth and psychotherapy haven't altered that urge for myself nor my brother.
What got me about this shot was the years of built up grime on the medicine cabinet and the light switch. It would take maybe a minute for me to scrub it all off, but it's something that wouldn't occur to my father to do. It compels me to contemplate just how he sees me: a compulsive neat freak? And am I? Is it in response to his filth, a learned behaviour as a child?
I do not know.
I do know it was one of the least filthy places in his bathroom. The rest of it I couldn't bear to photograph or post if I had.