Bronze Mirror (銅鏡) — The Mirror That Remembers Faces

Thousands of years ago, when craftsmen melted copper to cast mirrors, they polished the surface with pomegranate juice and mercury amalgam. Somewhere in that process — or perhaps from the very moment a mirror was first laid upon a ritual altar — it is said to have ceased being a mere tool. The figures of gods and beasts engraved on the reverse were long rumored to be not decoration, but seals.

In ancient East Asia, the bronze mirror stood at the heart of ceremony and sorcery. Rulers carried them as emblems of authority; shamans used them to commune with the dead. It was believed that the reflective face looked toward the world of the living, while the engraved reverse faced the realm of the dead. Certain records warn that carelessly turning an old bronze mirror over will cause the beasts carved upon it to appear in one's dreams.

Among collectors, dark rumors have never ceased to circulate about bronze mirrors unearthed after long ages in the ground. It is said that when the surface is polished clean, what appears first is not one's own face, but the outline of a stranger. The longer one gazes, the more distinct that face becomes.

The mirror-caster — the kyeongsa (鏡師), the artisan who made mirrors — was said never to let his own face fall upon the surface while he worked. It was believed that if his likeness was captured before the casting was complete, the mirror would hold his soul fast. Among mirrors bearing the inscription for kyeongsa (京師), meaning a craftsman of the capital, a number remain unaccounted for to this day.

Even now, bronze mirrors with half-effaced designs on their reverse occasionally surface in the antique trade. There are those who say the markings were not worn away, but scratched off from within. The people who have purchased such mirrors share a common account — that though they drape the mirror in cloth before bed, by morning the cloth lies crumpled on the floor.