I’m pretty sure that the eyes are erogenous organs and erogenous zones. They touch, they taste, they talk, they sing, they smell love and danger, they reach the untouchable, they give a name to all things left behind and disowned, they build cathedrals of meaning and they are the supreme artists of inquiry.
I love so much and so dearly the foreign worlds you bring to mine, naked from noise and clutter so I can touch them through this window of phobic convalescence, and let them in and touch me in spite of ancient terrors and disturbing memories, in spite of my reluctance to let myself be touched and embraced. I so much appreciate the simplicity of your glance, free from any intention to sell anything, and I have been privileged to be the fugitive voice of all those strangers, and most of all, to play your voice for a while, as if I were you doing the click, or even better, as if we were doing it together as a team.
My whole vision of the world has changed along sixteen weeks of walking your eyes, instead of your shoes. And it has changed forever.
Thank you for this bewildering joyride.
From the bottom of my heart.
Paz Puente Greene
From the bottom of my heart.
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