Nightfall didn’t end the spell of the light, for he felt it in the very fabric of being:ĭarkness, for me, was still light, but in a new form and a new rhythm. Art by Ping Zhu from The Snail with the Right Heart by Maria Popova Radiance multiplied, reflected itself from one window to the next, from a fragment of wall to cloud above. I looked for it in the flickering of its beams, in the echo which, as a rule, we attribute only to sound, but which belongs to light in the same measure. There was no use my seeing the sun high up in the sky in its place in space at noon, since I was always searching for it elsewhere.
We never ask ourselves where air comes from, for it is there and we are alive. I liked seeing that the light came from nowhere in particular, but was an element just like air. This light was not like the flow of water, but something more fleeting and numberless, for its source was everywhere. I saw it everywhere I went and watched it by the hour… flowing over the surface of the houses in front of me and through the tunnel of the street to right and left.
Looking back on his blissful early childhood, Lusseyran recounts his formative enchantment with the world:
BRAIN PICKING OPEN CULTURE ARTS AND LETTERS DAILY HOW TO
No one has written about what it takes to see - and how to do the looking - more poignantly than Jacques Lusseyran (September 19, 1924–July 27, 1971) in his stirring memoir And There Was Light ( public library). “To see takes time, like to have a friend takes time,” Georgia O’Keeffe wrote as she contemplated the art of seeing just before the Little Prince sighed his timeless sigh: “What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
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