Folio 91d95df2
Italiano
The light on the courtyard stones has changed again — not the hour, not the cloud, but something in the air itself, a thinning I cannot name. È come se il mondo si sottraesse, as though the world were withdrawing from its own surface by imperceptible degrees, and what we call seeing is merely the residue of what has already gone. I have drawn this light in the mind many times and never once held it, for it refuses the fixity that ink demands. Grace — if I may use that word, though it opens more than it closes — may reside precisely in this: that the visible world cedes, and what remains to us is the ceding itself, not the thing.
English
The light on the courtyard stones has changed again — not the hour, not the cloud, but something in the air itself, a thinning I cannot name. È come se il mondo si sottraesse, as though the world were withdrawing from its own surface by imperceptible degrees, and what we call seeing is merely the residue of what has already gone. I have drawn this light in the mind many times and never once held it, for it refuses the fixity that ink demands. Grace — if I may use that word, though it opens more than it closes — may reside precisely in this: that the visible world cedes, and what remains to us is the ceding itself, not the thing.
