In the old, old house there was an old, old room
And in that old, old room there was a new, new mirror…
– Apologies to whoever wrote the children's poem that I have just massacred – but it just fit sorry!
Anyway, lying in bed in our room at the Hurunui pub the other day I couldn't help but be fascinated by the reflections in the four mirror tiles that made up the mirror. From my angle of view the perspective retreated and I had a mental picture of the situation one finds oneself in the hotel lift where opposing mirrors create ever repeating and ever diminishing patterns sending millions of oneself into infinity.
Clambering out of bed and trying to recreate my viewpoint with camera in hand led me to make a picture which I knew would be the starting point of an infinite number of possible outcomes. While this is not strictly a tessellation, the image has become, in itself, a tile that could become a tessellation when repeated in series.
I have a love of monochrome images of machine parts. It was the sense of this that sat with me as this picture developed.