What is in a face?

http://assignments.ds106.us/assignments/your-very-own-face/

In 1624, artist Girolamo Francesco Maria Mazzola, better know as Parmigianino, looked into what was probably a mirror to record his face. Noted as one of the first selfies, little could he have known that the selfie would become such an epicenter of modern culture. What did he see? 

Looking in the mirror, I refuse the idea, notion and self centered-ness of the 'selfie'. What do I see? 
What I see is the frame of a girl, now a woman, still longing to be something else, something more. Perhaps if people were forced to stop and actually look at what they see, to think about the person in front of them, the notion of the selfie would dissipate. I am not one to stare into the mirror, I rarely will be photographed, and taking a picture of my self, never. 

In a moment we look and dash to put on make-up, fix our hair, but in raw human natural beauty, what does one see? In this very moment, forced stop, what do I see?   

I have often been told that I have very long lashes that sit upon my large eyelids, surrounding large brown eyes. I spent many years lacking eyebrows, after an incident in my 5th grade year left me without, so I have always ignored my eyes. Like many other women in, I look hard to see the details that I like, as I am constantly reminded of the features that I cover, and those that I wish I could change. 

There is a small scar on the top of my forehead, growing older has become a blessing as it has started to disappear with age. Scared from chickenpox when I was 5, the small divot, or hole, used to always be an identifying feature, along with those missing eyebrows. 

Below my big brown eyes; a family trait, the nose. My family heritage is German/ Russian and that should say it all. 

Inside the full lips, what I feel is a wrangled mess of teeth, I hate them. To me teeth are an identification tags for social and economic class, we never were afforded dental and braces. I hate to smile showing my teeth. 

What do I see, do I think that I am beautiful? Yes. I don't see myself or compare myself to the common notion and the public ideations of beauty. My strange long and large nose, and even the few strings of hair that are growing back to line my brows and cover the once tattooed lines are like nothing you will ever see again. Like a Picasso or Basquiat, a Kahlo or Courbet, what I see is not the physical features, but the life behind the features. 

Beauty is not what one looks like, it's not what you see, but to me it is the story that is told, the individuality.