It is easy got lost in all the words and texts written about self-reflection and interpretation, photography and text and their interchangeable creation of meaning. Every single contact and meeting, book opens different perspectives that I feel like in a labyrinth where I end up going in a direction I never intended to and know that it will take me nowhere. Returning back and looking at my own texts, crystalized thoughts and still images I find it strange why it discovers something new about myself. As if I live outside my own self. Thoughts and moments and like liquid, constantly flowing and changing – this self reflection uncovers something that we do not know about ourselves. Something that we would ought to know. But what should it disclose to others? Perhaps through my own study I can approach this inquiry in a more persuasive way. Uncovering something, like lifting a blanket and seeing one’s own nakedness. The shame and hiding under the cover, crystalizing it in light. Just like writing, also photography needs to be performed in light. Closely then read, interpreted and inspected. And saved… Saved for us to reread later. I recently found a diary that I kept since an early childhood. It was full of worries, thought that feel so strange and distant. However it is still me. It has been said that the body changes every seven years, since all the cells renew and change. Is it a myth? The pictures where a small blond child is looking in the camera and smiling is me, so different yet still me. A child with her own desires, wishes and joys. When I was small I wanted to be a road sweeper I like the way leaves in the autumn could be brushed on the sides of the road. It gave me a sense of a complete job. I wanted to have a Ferrari and marry Brad Pitt. I remember I fantasized how one day I could meet him at the party. I was watching The Legends of the Fall. The dreams I have now are different. It does not mean they are less naive. Why are we ashamed of our writing, voice, photographs… They are not what we think they should be? Do we have a small image of ourselves in our minds, like a little miniature person living away its life and when we are faced with the image we feel disappointed. Yet sometimes revisiting this images makes us also feel proud. Proud of what we have to say. Yet again something that the little person inside us only dreams of saying. Yet it is clear it is us. Reflections at the end of reflections and shadows. Shadows that live their own lives. Lives that we cannot control and change. Yet we can have dialogues with them.