Folio 5692f3d4
Italiano
The light this morning came grey and even, no single source, as though the sky itself had become the lamp — and I thought how rarely we see truly diffused light, how the eye craves the sharp edge of shadow to know where one thing ends and another begins, and yet it is in the diffusion that we find the truer condition of the world, which is that nothing is so separate as we pretend, that the hand and the page are not two things meeting but one substance becoming aware of itself through touch, and I wonder whether God made the morning light even so on purpose, to humble the draughtsman who insists on contour — or whether even this thought is vanity, and the light simply is, and asks nothing of me, and I am the one who cannot let it be without making of it a lesson.
English
This morning the light came grey and even, without a single source, as though the sky itself had become the lamp — and I thought how rarely we see truly diffused light, how the eye craves the sharp edge of shadow to know where one thing ends and another begins, and yet it is in the diffusion that we find the truer condition of the world, which is that nothing is so separate as we pretend, that the hand and the page are not two things meeting but one substance becoming aware of itself through touch. I wonder whether God made the morning light even so on purpose, to humble the draughtsman who insists on contour — or whether even this thought is vanity, and the light simply is, and asks nothing of me, and I am the one who cannot let it be without making of it a lesson.
