Ceci n’est pas un portrait
There is the man. Then there is him, filmed by the camera and translated into television image. There is the snapshot of the frame. There is the iperralistic painting. Last comes the photograph.
As in a mirror maze, the original and its variations run into each other and get confused, creating a intricate tangle of relationships. What does remain of the person, at the end? The flesh, is still existing? Or we live only in our representations?
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