In the infinity of space there is a planet with two faces turning around an old, white sun to which it always shows the same side. The other is enveloped in total darkness.A quote from the intro to a game I played recently. You can find it here. It's very "adult" in places.
On each face life has developed in a different way. The bright side is inhabited by people who call themselves Strefis, the illuminated ones, while the dark side is populated by the Ugeltz, the people of night.
No Ugeltz has ever seen a Strefis - however each civilisation remembers the other, in legends.
The plot revolves (but doesn't rotate, apparently) around a man who's been given the task of finding an energy source to keep alive the dying dark side of the planet. Their energy source has been something they dig up out of the ground, but they're running out of it. Crops are failing and they face starvation and extinction.
The dark world seems to be completely without beauty or art, except for statues of their hypersexualized god, Geltz, who doesn't really look much like his worshippers.
One of the puzzles in the game is for the protagonist to create a potion to bring on a vision that will show him his "second face".
He explains his quest to some people at the temple of Geltz. He says, "I am seeking my second face." A woman, lethargic and deadened, replies, "I have no face."
In the vision, he travels somehow to a place where he meets, without realizing it, a woman from the light side of the planet. She's beautiful and bright and warm. She is his "second face".
It's all very philosophical and metaphorical and whatnot, which is probably why the cliffhanger ending took me by surprise. Now I have to wait for the next chapter.
At Dinner last night, S. walked in with a stack of big brown envelopes containing the pictures from HelpPortrait day. And rather than just handing them out, he set up a table where people could, one at a time, open their envelopes and see their portraits.
Cool idea, creating a bit of an occasion out of what could have just been a give-away.
People would come to the table, sit down on the chair. They'd laugh a bit nervously, but smiling, excited. Reach into the envelope, pull out the pictures. Laugh again.
Flip slowly through the stack of photos, point at something, smile at themselves smiling back. Remember something funny that happened just before that one was taken and that's why they're laughing there.
Shuffle back through the pack to find the one they like best.
One woman had come on her own for the portrait because her man was working and she didn't want to miss out. She had a few shots in her envelope taken from a wider perspective - with a big pink teddy bear that's been languishing in the piles of "donations" that litter the 'church'. She laughed at those shots.
There were one or two of her that were close-ups, that caught the red in her hair and the colour of her eyes. Looking composed and comfortable and glad. She held one of those for a moment. Held and looked at it and was quiet. And said, "That's a nice picture". And sounded surprised.
A few weeks ago, S. had handed out a few candid shots he'd taken of friends at Dinner. One of the guys, A., looked at his shot and said, "Oh, my, Gawd. I look like an 80 year old wino."
I said, "No you don't. 70, tops."
And he laughed and swore and threw the pictures on the table beside his plate. But he kept looking at them. Like he'd never seen his own face before. Saying "I look like my brother." And sounding surprised.
He spent most of the rest of the meal telling everybody how awful the pictures were and how old and decrepit he looked. But when he went home, the pictures went with him.
It's an interesting thing to see people seeing their own faces.
They see them all the time in the mirror. But the mirror, contrary to popular opinion, isn't entirely objective. The mirror tells you what you think of yourself. It tells you what think you are and what you thought you ought to be and what you think other people see when they look at you. What you've been called, years ago and yesterday. What you've done. What's been done to you.
A picture taken by a friend - by someone you trust - tells you what they think of you. And it's far more beautiful, more true, more like what God sees than what you see of yourself. The wrinkles are still there, and you still look like your brother, but you're lovely and you belong somewhere. Someone wants to remember you.
To see your second face - the one that's beautiful and bright and warm and loved by somebody else - is a great gift.
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