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preformed [sic.]quite on its own, without prompting from me. For a lens there was neither living nor dead, there was neither man nor object, not sentimentality or reverence. I had made no great mistake with my Sonner 1.5, and that, I suppose, was that. the face was dead, and the richness and softness were perhaps the work of the lens.

I was struck by a certain intensity of feeling in the pictures. Was it in the dead face itself? The face was rich in feeling, yet the dead man himself had none. It seemed to me that the pictures were neither of life nor of death. The face was alive but sleeping. One might in another sense see them as pictures of a dead face and yet feel in them something neither living nor

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dead. Was it that the face came through as the living face? Was it that the face called up so many memories of the living man? Or was it that I had before me not the living face but photographs? I thought it strange too that in pictures I could see the dead face more clearly and minutely than when I had had it before me. The pictures were like a symbol of something, hidden, something that must not be looked upon.

Feb. 8. 75

Elsewhere is a negative mirror. the traveler recognizes the little that is his, discovering the much he has not had and will never have.

Italo Calrino. Invisible Cities - p29

With cities, it is as with dreams: everything imaginable can be dreamed, but even the