I have been horrified before all mirrors

not just before the impenetrable glass,

the end and the beginning of that space,
inhabited by nothing but reflections,



but faced with specular water, mirroring

the other blue within its bottomless sky,

incised at times by the illusory flight

of inverted birds, or troubled by a ripple,



or face to face with the unspeaking surface
of ghostly ebony whose very hardness
reflects, as if within a dream, the whiteness
of spectral marble or a spectral rose.



Now, after so many troubling years
of wandering beneath the wavering moon,
I ask myself what accident of fortune
handed to me this terror of all mirrors–



mirrors of metal and the shrouded mirror
of sheer mahogany which in the twilight
of its uncertain red softens the face
that watches and in turn is watched by it.



I look on them as infinite, elemental
fulfillers of a very ancient pact
to multiply the world, as in the act
of generation, sleepless and dangerous.



They extenuate this vain and dubious world
within the web of their own vertigo.
Sometimes at evening they are clouded over
by someone's breath, someone who is not dead.



The glass is watching us. And if a mirror
hangs somewhere on the four walls of my room,
I am not alone. There's an other, a reflection
which in the dawn enacts its own dumb show.



Everything happens, nothing is remembered
in those dimensioned cabinets of glass
in which, like rabbits in fantastic stories,
we read the lines of text from right to left.



Claudius, king for an evening, king in a dream,
did not know he was a dream until the day
on which an actor mimed his felony
with silent artifice, in a tableau.



Strange, that there are dreams, that there are mirrors.
Strange that the ordinary, worn-out ways
of every day encompass the imagined
and endless universe woven by reflections.



God (I've begun to think) implants a promise
in all that insubstantial architecture
that makes light out of the impervious surface
of glass, and makes the shadow out of dreams.



God has created nights well-populated
with dreams, crowded with mirror images,
so that man may feel that he is nothing more
 than vain reflection. That's what frightens us.

  Spanish; trans. Alastair Reid

https://ronnowpoetry.com/contents/borges/Mirrors.html

MIRRORS

I started my idea from searching some pictures online for the things that can reflect people "selves". The most obvious things is mirror. People use mirror to same themselves and also deny themselves about if they look great today or everyday. So that's the point I wanted to start with self awareness, by things that people are doing everyday but basically no one has realised they were doing. Define "ME/I".

MY very first plan for the project was about:

The project is mainly talking about when facing the “truth” and the fake. When the reality is not true anymore, how to recognise which part which part of reality can be believed.

Basically, use a wall, a mirror, a projector and a piece of well-edited video. The edited picture is projected onto the wall through a projector, and the projected picture on the wall is reflected by a mirror at another angle.

Through three different media transmissions of the video, does it still reflect the original video at the beginning?

For people’s definition of reality and the original, based on what factors will make it changed. Will it be changed through the propagation process, propagation medium, propagation environment or objects?

For example, like people’s social occasions. Are people's reactions really what they wanted to express? Also, what will the information be received by the person who receives the response?

It's a poem I saw while I was browsing the website. I found it kind of beautiful so i copied it.