In going through my photographs and scribblings and story-bound dribblings, I’ve picked up on a pattern I hadn’t been aware of, but that has given me something to chew on. I haven’t had much time to mull it, so these are nothing more than incomplete thoughts and observations, jotted down here for future reference, or perhaps as a placeholder I can come back to for further chewing.

I suppose that makes this cud. Ah, well. Sorry about the spit.

I am fascinated by doors. Doors, windows, apertures of all kinds; the line of demarcation between Here and There. Gates, entryways. Portals. The slender in-betweens that define the edges and boundaries. I get the same rush from standing in a doorway as I do from standing at the edge of a lake or the ocean: this is in-between. This is a meeting-place, the crossroads where Here and There meet.

Oddly, I don’t get that tingly feeling from crossroads.

I know people who don’t like mirrors. In my head, mirrors and windows are the same creature, and I am compelled to think that it’s instinctive, and that perhaps it’s why so many people don’t like mirrors: they’re windows through which we cannot see the other side, and who knows what’s lurking there, watching us while we fix our hair or glide eyeliner across our lids, or shave, or merely glance? Intellectually, I know that behind the frame and glass is simply an impenetrable wall like all the rest not covered by mirrored surface, but the creature-soul in my hindbrain knows that I’m fooling myself with silly, trivial facts, that reality is something far other, far stranger.

I don’t like dolls and mannequins for the same reason. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then theirs are shuttered and dark, and all manner of unspeakable things may be going on behind them. Human shaped things without life, with eyes but without souls. They’re terrifying.

But… doors. Love ’em. Fascinated by them. I’ve photograph after photograph of doors and gateways and windows of all types. I wonder what it means, down there in the creature-brain? It’s certainly not been a conscious gravitation. The things are clearly important to somebody in my head. I wonder who it is.