Train Passing
By assembling images with small mirrors, each of which reflects only a fragment of the larger scene, I became captivated by the beauty of a simple optical phenomenon. There was something meditative in holding actual light in my hand and in seeing how my fingers could seem to touch the horizon, distant objects, a cloud, birds in the sky, someone’s face, or darkness itself. This experience suggested to me a metaphor for Cheselden’s patient (1728), who, after recovering from blindness, was described as having the impression that his eyes were touched by everything he saw, whether near or far. Today, life is increasingly mediated through touching its own image. Does this render us half-blind, since seeing no longer seems sufficient and must be supplemented by touch? Or does it make us doubly blind, since what we touch is, in fact, not there?