I remember this mirror from my childhood, it is part of a set belonging to my grandfather. Mirrors are full of associations for me. At times I have lost all contact with my reflection, I knew in theory that it was me, but there was no recognition. It happens sometimes when I am tired and spaced out. It can be read as a symptom, I remember discussing it with a psychologist at the Early Intervention Team who said it was dissociation.
When I was 21, my paternal grandmother passed away. I knew there was a custom of covering mirrors when someone has died, so I covered mine. I was in my final year of university and it was a full length mirror in a pine frame that I’d found left behind by another student in halls. I was worried about doppelgangers, my reflected self. It felt safer to have it covered.
For the binding, I chose strips of: A red checked shirt which my dad no longer wanted. A white and peach-patterned old duvet cover from a past boyfriend. A turquoise patterned dress of mine, which I never wore.
I started by wrapping the mirror with scrim so the fabric strips have something to grip to - the frame is too smooth and rounded. I know the binding process well by now, it is familiar. Tear smaller and smaller strips, weave under and over. Thinner string forms networks and nets. The reflection was hidden straightaway, you can only partially see light underneath.
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