The image of the Text

Abstract

Perhaps my greatest virtue was to be born nearsighted. The landscape of the myopic is like a great blur, a misshapen stain in which the colors of the spotted objects seem to go beyond the borders of their own contours: they enter the border of each other’s border, and together form a palette of watercolor pools. The most beautiful observation is nonetheless the idea that what is 10m from me is mixed, at that moment, to the person who arrives holding his books 50m away. They can be mistaken by unfinished studies of paintings from the Venetian School of Giorgione and Titian, which favors color at the expense of the line. The notion of depth is nullified. [...] It is as if the eyes were in tears: we see a single thing, the blur; as if we perceived the spacing of time, or rather, failed to perceive it. It’s as if the breaks are taken. The emptiness between the 10m ramp and the woman with her books at 50m shortened. There is no “z” axis. The pause is over. It is as if we see a stream of consciousness. It is “how” that makes the object itself, being and not being there. This is because “a lot of things come together in one plan”. Not many, endless.