When the Rays began climbing the charts with a song about love, misperception and pareidolia, I was just a kid --but understood the pivot-point of their romantic ballad perfectly. The song is about a guy taking an evening walk down a street on which his girlfriend lives. He sees a window shade and silhouette tableau of what he believes is his beloved kissing a stranger. He bangs on the door and is politely informed that he's on the wrong block. Ooops.
(1957, The Rays, "Silhouette" --click)
Pareidolia needn't always be distressing or embarrassing, as I hope to demonstrate by my own experience and recreation. I too have often seen two silhouettes on the shade in the bedroom --the lampshade (what do you think I meant? --oh how could you?). Observe:
It is caused by two tassels (as things often are) hung from the upper shade-hem. Sometimes, while reading in bed --especially Louisa May Alcott-- I will look up and see two little women in earnest discussion on a stairway, a nudge :
All it takes is a bit of imagination. Then that old song starts doo-wopping in the background and I forget about the waking world and its incessant awful news. I stop thinking about politicians I don't like --and other proofs of rat-human interbreeding. I quit searching, like a hapless horse for hay in a needlestack. Silhouettes are there for a good reason: they help us imagine and dream.