Archive-14

Self-portraits of two photographers
Holly Lee (written in 2020), reprinted from DOUBLE DOUBLE 1009-2020
1
One very interesting topic in photography, for me, is self-portrait. In the past,
Ka-sing and I had been invited several times to produce our own portraits.
The two self-portraits published here was another attempt in 2002, featured in a
group show organized by Gallery 44 in Toronto.
What do people expect to see in a self-portrait, especially one taken by the
photographer himself, whose normal practice is just being an observer? Would
he see only a mirror in front of him, his true “flipped” likeness, or would he work
on a staged, preferred image to present to the viewer? That is a very interesting
question. Sometimes, the photographer may decide to disappear altogether -
hanging in limbo, or take the form of a piece of crumbed up newspaper. Could
the fact be established then, if one leafs through pictures of self-portraits, he is
looking simultaneously, through every taker’s mind and body?
In my 2002 self-portrait, I picked up a scene that’s been stuck in my head
for many years. Sometime in 1975, I rented a room from a lady and became
her housemate. Her husband was a sailor, and often went out to sea. My room
was small, but it had a window which gave me the most extraordinary view -
thousands of small wooden houses cascading down the foot of the hill. They
were built by Chinese refugees who occupied the hill at the end of the 50s
and subsequently transforming it into an empire of wooden huts. At night, I
could always see millions of eyes laughing, and blinking at me. I used to put a
formica square folding table (now considered retro…) in front of the window as
my working desk. I loved working there, looking straight out of the window and
getting lost in the magical forest of a thousand eyes. I even wrote a poem for the
scene, saying that every night I was meeting a giant Christmas tree. So for the
self-portrait here, I was trying to recreate this dramatic episode, only this time
I wanted to look out to the cosmos, to meet and greet the twinkle twinkle little
stars. Yet being in the city, in Trinity Bellwoods Park it’s hard to see any stars.
Instead they winked and glittered in my imagination, and I could only hear leaves
rustling in the gentle breeze.
Holly Lee, self portrait, 2002
8x8 inches, archival pigment print