Mirrors are more than tools to indulge one’s vanity. Maria in Play It as It Lays uses a hand mirror to find traces of her mother in her face. The woman in the poem Mirror looks into one to search “for what she really is.” The writer S*an D. Henry-Smith called mirrors “the place of rehearsal.” Held within the mirror’s frames, one’s entire being–– that paradox of origins and futures, triumphs and yearnings, egotisms and insecurities–– is reflected and revealed.
I decided to call this blog hand mirror because I hope to achieve the same sense of exposure in my own essays and stories. I try to publish bi-monthly, and usually cover topics revolving around literature, travel, emotional confusion, and whatever pops into my head.
BTW, my name is Modesty. Right now I’m bouncing between Spain and California, but I could really never say where I’ll be in a year. Besides the obvious things, I love doing yoga, petting cats, eating dark chocolate, staring into space, watching reality TV, and listening to Father John Misty–– who I’ve seen live three times now, but who’s counting. In this moment my favorite piece on the blog is a story called We Dream of Love From a Young Age.
Cover photo is from the painting “Tarde de verano” by Alejandra Caballero.
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