Description:

This painting is a lie that ultimately tells the truth, a brutally honest revelation about the reality of perception (my own) that eventually prompted a re-telling (link below).

Like much of my early work, which was produced in true Surrealist fashion, allowing hidden regions of the mind to reveal themselves through the silencing of reason, the imagery in this curious scene was undoubtedly an unconscious attempt to supplant the ego, whose natural instinct is self-preservation.

However, the ego won in this instance, having truly convinced me that I remained unseen by "her" and that I was the unwanted victim of unknown circumstances (which was the story I told myself for many years).

Nonetheless, through a more careful examination, the symbolism in this painting actually tells a different story that contradicts what I only thought was true for so long (although both stories exist on the surface here).

For example, let's explore the anonymous female figure in the foreground, the presumed subject of this painting, along with the petrified depiction of me, on the bottom right, preseved in a wounded state.

Of course, the Involuntary Blindness in the title refers to my own, at the time, having interpreted this unfolding drama as a documentation of yet another painful rejection, having just offered the faceless female figure a rose (my affection) which she accepted with little interest, simply setting it aside to attend to her own preoccupation (whatever that may be).

However, what is obvious to me now, in hindsight, is that, in these moments of attraction, there was no "she"; because, once my interest reached a certain threshold... the real and tangible object of my affection became something else, something distorted, an almost deified "her" that held the key to an elusive hidden treasure, which seemed forbidden to me.

So, in my excited state, the infatuation itself became the objective. The infatuation became my external tormentor, and was both faceless and nameless.

The question then, is... how could she see me, when she ceased to exist (in my mind's eye)?

And, the answer is... she couldn't; because I couldn't even see myself then. I didn't know who I was, as depicted in the faceless reflection in the mirror (behind the scenes). That's me... still trying to understand the difference between what I really wanted, and what I'm "supposed to" want.

For further reference:

My Flower, My Love...

A Harsh Reality, Exposed

and then, the re-imagining of this painting (two years later)...

My Early Encounters with the Irrational