Navigating without seeing is like life: we don't have the capacity to see where we’re actually going, even though we can understand a broader picture sometimes. In E, I see a great metaphor of this in a literal physical way. Like your image of people walking with umbrellas, we’re constantly navigating with seemingly little context, aways sunk away in thoughts yet never a clue, scarcely learning to recognise shapes along the way. But our strength is that we’re not alone. E seems to understand that more than most.
In a comparable way, for the last years I’ve been making images without a lens, asking a camera to record images for me with an eye that I do not have myself. Nothing in between reality and medium, everything essentially reduced to two dimensional recorded shapes that I retroactively try to understand while relating to the moment I experienced.
And then there are those moments when I suddenly find myself in a tree along my path, a tree that I’ve apparently climbed up to seek out my horizon. To understand things more. Hoping to be closer. But that’s the thing about an horizon: it’s hope. It’s meant to be far. I’ll never arrive at my horizon. And the fact that my hope defines my path in ways I cannot understand, is kind of OK. When in doubt, all I need to do is turn around and look back where I was yesterday.
Out of nowhere, a dog gently approaches me, acknowledging and accepting my presence.