A letter arrives in an attractive workroom. A female hand breaks the seal on the envelope and a male voice reads aloud from the letter.
Dear researcher of imagery, what is behind the mirror? Half my life I have asked the pictures what goes on behind their backs. Little did it help. They admitted next to nothing. This is the situation: Once we’ve looked into the mirror long enough, we realize it lies. It lies because we lie. We only show the mirror what we want it to see. Like we do with the camera, once we are accustomed to it.
Indeed: the art of lying is to tell a story better than truth can. Better, more sparkling, more comforting or more disturbing. In any case, the truth is in an inferior position to the lie if men decide what they want to believe. A sundown by Turner is more expensive than any photo wallpaper because it tells a lie so much better.
I could almost feign fervour while lying, my good lady. I miss the lie in images. Visual artists in the 90s are barely able to show the truth, then their art is over.
