Carmen Mariscal

Or Maybe the Mirror Was No Longer Mine?

2020

This collage is made with photographs taken during a private performance I made using my mother-in-law’s typewriter, which I found in the house where I spent the confinement. This typewriter is identical to the one my grandfather had when I was a child.

The lockdown in France was very strict, we could only go out to buy food and medicine, and always with a permit. During that distressing time, I dreamed that I had a meeting in my studio with the prefect of discipline of my children’s school. He was typing at a typewriter. Through a hidden door, dozens of clones of the prefect appeared; identical men typing without stopping. The dream ended with the question, “Or, maybe the mirror was no longer mine?”

Days later, I typed the question over and over again, like a child that had been assigned to repeat it as a punishment. I did not understand why I had dreamed of this question. Maybe because I was in the midst of objects that did not belong to me, in a country that is not mine? Maybe because I no longer recognize myself in the image I see? Or maybe because it no longer matters who is reflected in the image or who owns it?