The Eye is coy. It observes the surrounding world in silence.
It has power. It chooses what to see. It limits space; which is unlimited.
The Eye has its own language: Image.
Images travel through our dreams, painting our memories, talking to our souls.
The Eye has senses.
When the Eye meets red, I smell blood, death and war.
When the Eye meets yellow lying next to green, I am in a summer lemon garden.
When the Eye comes to blue, I hear the rhythm of Blues songs harmonizing with the sound of waves.
The Eye does not reflect the World. It establishes its own World.
It is bright like a light.
The light penetrates the darkness of the Past, illuminates the Present. And the Future?
We will have to See.
It is sharp like a knife.
The knife peels off all the fancy, hollow covers, returning things back to their naked nature.
If Esmeralda were in love with Quasimodo, Quasimodo would be Casanova in her eyes.
That's how the Feeling blinds the Eye.
If Orpheus hadn't turned his head back to his wife, he would have lost her forever.
The Feeling conflicts with the Head, manipulates fates.
The Eye, the Consciousness and the Feeling
They are close, yet far apart.
They are friends, yet strangers. Or even, sometimes, enemies.
They are free, yet sometimes belong to each other.
They are linked, yet struggle to harmonise with each other.
- photo by Yến Dương