Lynne Tillman

 

When you’re an amateur, as I am in most things in life, except writing, and there I still do it for love not money, when you take a picture, its result can be surprising. A shot in the dark, and the case with this picture.

I arrived at our house in Hudson about 8pm, I’d taught during the day, and the light, now that it’s spring, was bright, and I went upstairs and stood on the terrace, and looked out. In that twilight, my shadow cast itself on the lawn. The lawn, ragged and just dirt, had been plowed over and trampled, because of work done on the foundation of the house in the winter. My shadow looked enormous, portentous in my large black coat. I had my Blackberry with me (I know; I like its keyboard), and decided to photograph the shadow. It looked so peculiar. The result surprised me, and I still don’t understand how it came about. I expected the shadow to be lying flat on the ground, but instead it became a reflection of a reflection, I suppose, which is, often, what writing is. Reflecting on reflections.