Because our perception's the only one we got.

Last week, I proposed a project in identity. I had several friends draw self-portraits. This alone would have been intriguing. But I had a catch:

They had to do it with their eyes closed.

By removing a primary sense I feel that I also broke down a barrier. There was one less way to censor yourself. Made it semi-metaphysical.

I like to believe that every self-portrait betrays a secret about the artist. Whether it be significant or silly, vague or explicit. . .I asked my friends to write what secret their self-portrait illustrated. I think that the people involved were forced to explore newer, maybe even darker corners of their identity and perception that would have normally been obscured.

And I wonder how different these pictures appear to those who drew them and saw with the eye of their mind.

I've lost an illusion

out of both

hiding behind my hair

eggs

dark circles

I can't always put the pieces together right

expand as I move to reside

wishes

I didn't do anything wrong

swim and jump and languish

3 years

I am told all day to stop crying

To hell with my freedom





NECK: Everybody knows you, installation of conjugal bliss.
NOSE: Everybody knows you, tapestry of forgotten ideas, crystalliza-tion.
NECK: Everybody knows you, formula for a song, running board of algebra, insomnia number, triple-skinned machine.
MOUTH: Everybody does not know me. I am alone here in my wardrobe and the mirror is blank when I look at myself. Also I love the birds at the ends of lit cigarettes. Cats, all animals and all vegetables. I love cats, birds, animals and vegetables which are the projection of Clytemnestra in the courtyard, bedding, vases and meadows. I love hay. I love the young man who makes such tender declarations to me and whose spine is ripped asunder in the sun.

- The Gas Heart by Tristan Tzara