There are two photographs of the pianist, one when she is probably six, playing the piano in a white blouse and a big ribbon in her hair and one when she is probably nine with long legs and loss of the chubby, holding a string of perch. Both pictures are a display of her concentration on the subjects, the piano and the fish. There is no self consciousness apparent. How is it possible to love the pictured? They are just a little girl on photographic paper. Still, there is a force vitale that compels and completes the potential that 70 years later has arisen in the actual. This dualism as described by Jung, potential and actually fulfilled, is called entelechia. It was first coined by Aristotle. The force and concentration is still abundant today 70 years later, expanded and modified by the bombardment of life events. Can one pull the veil aside for a moment and go to the photographs and reflect on what was and what is and know that the today's flesh and blood actual is the real source of the love of the images?