The mirror at dusk
A flickering flame appears through the curved glass surface, and casts its glare onto the wall behind. Still, whoever gets closer, also notices the reflection, perceives how the object responds to what occurs in its surroundings. Even more when evening falls and dusk sets in, when the room slowly darkens. It reminds one of the past, of something that matters, but you cannot grasp it all at once. Only to realise eventually that it is above all a sentiment, something that stirs within you; embraced by the shifting shadows in the room, enhanced by the flickering flame and the likeness of yourself, gently manifesting itself with it.
It seems a permissible deduction to interpret the dome-like shape and the luminescence of this design as a reference to a lens. An optical instrument that magnifies what so often occurs unnoticed. Yet first, it is a reservoir: a vessel for a scene which highlights the surface but does not necessarily have it as its subject. For while the candle burns and accentuates the reflection from within with its warm, coppery glow, it is above all a consoling telling in itself. Of a flame on a wick melting the paraffin, rendering a candle ever smaller, of an intended life that is lived. And then, that same flame, licking the interior of the crafted glass, yet never directly touching it, throwing its kisses from a distance. It draws its signature of soot, to be found on walls as well. While the flame’s gleam and ambience light join the copper structure of the piece, on which the traces of time visibly linger.
In turn, the mirror’s reflective capacity lies within a thin silver coating, applied to the back of the glass surface. As such, it is by reducing a see-through that a view is generated, allowing its surface to reflect what passes in front of it. When applied in the traditional way, however, this coating is never flawless, and little by little acquires tiny cracks and spots; a veined network of marks that tempers the harsh reflection with a sincere expression of imperfection. It increases over time, grows without our choosing, just like it does across the skin of an ageing hand. Especially when the material is not kept from it by additional interventions or procedures, and through this, when time is permitted to imprint itself to it. Something that is intentionally looked for, even stimulated, here. So that the reflection over the years incorporates transformation, and – without lapsing into sentimentality – fosters a pensive meditation on gradual finiteness.
Text : Jonas Lescrauwaet | Photography : Eline Willaert
Silvering : Pierre-Yves Morel | Fine Metalwork: Boris Pellegroms