“I see people as trees, walking.”
The blind man’s strange, enigmatic and evocative reply to Jesus Christ’s question of “What do you see?” before his sight was fully restored.
What did he see in that intermediate phase?
Maybe…capillaries blooming around his vision as the blood and life returned to his eyes - filigree veins latticing his vision as figures moved through the dissipating haze? Or was he seeing into some kind of spiritual realm - people emanating fractal auras, ghostly branches spreading from the seats of their souls? Maybe the man was seeing life through an open shutter - all dragged and stretched, just impressions of colour and light, with elongated figures on the horizon. Perhaps some earlier sighted memory of cedar trees swaying in a golden breeze, the air aflame with the last of the sun’s vigour before it sleeps for the night.
Whatever the man actually saw, I found myself recalling this phrase as I explore the unique way a camera perceives the world. It can freeze time, and it can capture the passage of time smeared like paint across a single moment. Like people, as trees walking.
