Every time I go to the National Portrait Gallery I become fascinated by the approaching, dissolving, resolving, re-emerging figures of people entering through the revolving plate-glass doors. None of my attempts yesterday to capture a conventionally satisfying silhouette against the bright, white light through the doors was successful. But, through the shifting panes, these wavering little figures out in the street. Dissolving or resolving? I'm not sure. Lost words, lost compass; fleeting images a way, still, to demonstrate persisting form and movement and potential for refocusing. And I love the Giacometti legs.