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2002-04-07 - 1:00 a.m. In Part 2 of the Optic Trilogy, 'Brilliance', a blind woman who lost her sight in an accident talks to a photographer... Woman: Do you read a lot? Man: Not really. Woman: I used to. Nowadays my mother reads to me. I don’t like Braille. The titles are limited. Anyway there was this poet I read once. She wrote, ‘We see once, in childhood. The rest is memory.’ Man: Hmm. I’ll have to think that over for a while. Woman: You don’t have to. It’s simple. There is actually a limited number of things one can see in this world. Let’s say as a child you first saw a ball. A red ball. What kinds of sensations did it give you? How did you respond to its curves, the way it rolled and tugged your line of sight along with it? The second time you see it, you won’t get that same feeling. You know how it will move. You know how it appears small from far and larger as it rolls towards you. After that: the orange, the moon, the globe. They’re all variations on a common theme. There are no more surprises after that. You’ve seen it once and you’ll never see it again. Man: I’ll never see it again? Woman: You’ll never see it the way you did the first time. This concentrated mass of colour. This shape that had popped out from chaos and distinguished itself from all the other shapes. Man: Like sex. Woman: What? Man: No, I was just thinking aloud. Woman: I heard the word ‘sex’. Man: No you didn’t. Woman: I’m not deaf as well. Man: Yes I did. I said ‘like sex’. You can only experience sex once. After that it’s all variations of a common theme. No orgasm you’ll have in your entire life will be able to equal that first climax. Woman: But it’s different each time. Man: It’s different, but it’s not the first time. Everything after that is a copy of the original. And after that, copies of copies. The ink gets fainter. The image dissolves. Woman: You have such a sense of the tragic. Man: You don’t know how tragic fate can be. Woman: I’m the one who’s lost my vision and you’re complaining about tragedy? Would you like a cigarette? Man: I don’t smoke. Woman: It’ll be your first time. The original. Man: I’d rather not. Woman: Come on. Don’t be a virgin to nicotine. Virginity isn’t about purity. It’s about choosing ignorance over knowledge. Another writer wrote that. I think he’s French. Man: I’ve had second hand smoke before. Woman: That’s just porno. I’m offering you the real stuff. How do you know if you’ve had good sex? Man: What? Woman: It’s a joke. Man: Oh. I don’t know. Woman: When you’re done, even the neighbours are lighting their cigarettes. Man: I don’t get it. Woman: Then don’t laugh. Man: Explain it to me. Woman: There are two things in this world I will never explain to other people. My jokes and PMS. Man: So you’re saying if someone has good sex, he lights up a cigarette? Woman: Yes. Like just after you’ve had a good meal. The cigarette is the icing on the cake. But you don’t smoke it in hasty puffs. You take long luxurious drags from that tobacco stem. Man: I see. Woman: (Laughs) Man: What now? Woman: My mother used to scold me for using that phrase. Man: What phrase? Woman: ‘I see’. ‘Oh, I see.’ She thought I was being cruel to myself. But she’s wrong, of course. I was being cruel, but not to myself. The thing is, I do enjoy saying ‘I see’ in front of other people. It makes them awkward. I can feel the social temperature dropping a few degrees. That’s cruel, isn’t it? Having a laugh at other people’s expense. What would you do if I kept saying ‘I see’?
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