I’ve been leafing through old boxes of photographs finding forgotten versions of myself.

1992: My second year at university and I’d chopped off my hair, as I do now and then, though inside me I always have long, chestnut hair that curls tight after rain. My boyfriend wanted to be a photographer (he became a cameraman though when he took this photo he did not know his future) and this afternoon (in early winter light?) he asked me to sit down by the tree behind Studentsenteret. The contact sheet is missing but I have three large prints of myself sitting there. In two of them I’m looking nervously, coyly at the camera, uncomfortable at being photographed. I like this one better. But what am I thinking of? What am I looking at? The grand villas across the street? A passer by?

If I am looking towards a dream I can’t have been very confident of achieving it. My dreams then were confused and unspecific, by the linear path of my life since then.