Abstract
‘Paptainein, “to dart a glance in the anxiety of terror”; athrein, “to glance all-inclusively , to spy out”; derkesthai, “to flash a glance in the manner of a snake”; laein, “to grasp intensely in a glance”; skeptesthai, “to glance in a focused, snatching way”, dokeuein, “to glance in a hidden way, as in watching a prey before killing it”, dokein, “to look at in a tentative manner”.1 Edward S. Casey in his book ‘The World at a Glance’ identifies two privileging modes of vision: the glance and the gaze; always favouring the first. He argues that the glance precedes the gaze, or rather that the gaze is composed itself of glancing.2 ‘The glance is analytical before it is synthetic.’3 It happens in the “now”, at the “here” and it takes everything “all at once.” Through this essay, we will compare these two ways of seeing, questioning their relationship. We will ask ourselves whether the glance and the gaze are equal, assimilable or completely opposed modes of vision and how can one experience a place through them. We will test our perception of place through a series of walks in three different settings within the city of Athens, while experiencing them through both glancing and gazing. Hopefully, our recordings will show how the two modes of vision influence our understanding of place and whether the distinct features and traits of each of these places call for a particular way of seeing.
1 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 182.
2 ibid. 183
3 ibid. 18
Aknowledgements
This body of work is part of a larger essay on Poetic Thinking, organised by Fiona Hanley during the Studies in Contemporary Architectural Theory course at the University of Edinburgh.
WALK 01: ENCOUNTERS
Thursday 11th of April, 18:30
I am sitting on a really uncomfortable bench, right in the middle of a square. Behind me lies a huge church and in front of me a small, albeit busy street. I glance at the passing cars, the motion always making my head turn; and then, there are a couple of pedestrians, walking up and down. If I look more intensely towards them, I can tell what they bought judging from their carry-on bags. Mothers with strollers, dog owners, and so many other people pacing up and down the square, probably waiting for a friend or date.
I forgot to mention that this square is quite a meeting point, an open space that actually calls for some interaction. I am extremely aware of my surroundings, of the movements, steps and the rhythm of people walking, while at the same time I am unable to fixate on anything. Maybe, it is because my mind fails to find anything interesting in this context. I start glancing at encounters, at how people meet. Some hug, others kiss and others just wave all of them, however, looking at their significant partner into their eyes.
My look becomes more intense, somewhat awkward (if someone notices it). I start looking up and down two figures, observing their gestures, being deeply in sync with them. My eyes become even more active than when I wasn’t fixating on anything. In order to decode and scrutinise all that I am seeing I need to glance even more rapidly. But it is a different kind of glancing. It is a glance filled with judgement and filtration. Where my mind tries to analyse the visual stimuli and break it down. It is intervening with my perception, making assumptions about their conversations, their emotions, their relationship. Things that are beyond the visual, things you cannot perceive, but only assume.
1 Snell, Bruno. The Discovery of the Mind: The Greeks Origins of European Thought. (Campbridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953): 4, quoted in Edward S. Casey, The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 182.
2 Kleinberg-Levin, David. The Philosopher’s Gaze (California: University of California Press Berkley and Los Angeles, 1999), n.p.
3 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 143.
4 ibid. 9
5 ibid. 19
6 ibid. 11
7 ibid. 31
8 ibid. 173
9 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 143.
10 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and The Invisible, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1968), n.p.
11 ibid. n.p.
12 ibid. 149
13 ibid. n.p.
14 ibid. n.p.
15 ibid. n.p.
16 ibid. 132
17 ibid. 139
I am sitting on a really uncomfortable bench, right in the middle of a square. Behind me lies a huge church and in front of me a small, albeit busy street. I glance at the passing cars, the motion always making my head turn; and then, there are a couple of pedestrians, walking up and down. If I look more intensely towards them, I can tell what they bought judging from their carry-on bags. Mothers with strollers, dog owners, and so many other people pacing up and down the square, probably waiting for a friend or date.
I forgot to mention that this square is quite a meeting point, an open space that actually calls for some interaction. I am extremely aware of my surroundings, of the movements, steps and the rhythm of people walking, while at the same time I am unable to fixate on anything. Maybe, it is because my mind fails to find anything interesting in this context. I start glancing at encounters, at how people meet. Some hug, others kiss and others just wave all of them, however, looking at their significant partner into their eyes.
My look becomes more intense, somewhat awkward (if someone notices it). I start looking up and down two figures, observing their gestures, being deeply in sync with them. My eyes become even more active than when I wasn’t fixating on anything. In order to decode and scrutinise all that I am seeing I need to glance even more rapidly. But it is a different kind of glancing. It is a glance filled with judgement and filtration. Where my mind tries to analyse the visual stimuli and break it down. It is intervening with my perception, making assumptions about their conversations, their emotions, their relationship. Things that are beyond the visual, things you cannot perceive, but only assume.
1 Snell, Bruno. The Discovery of the Mind: The Greeks Origins of European Thought. (Campbridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953): 4, quoted in Edward S. Casey, The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 182.
2 Kleinberg-Levin, David. The Philosopher’s Gaze (California: University of California Press Berkley and Los Angeles, 1999), n.p.
3 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 143.
4 ibid. 9
5 ibid. 19
6 ibid. 11
7 ibid. 31
8 ibid. 173
9 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 143.
10 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and The Invisible, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1968), n.p.
11 ibid. n.p.
12 ibid. 149
13 ibid. n.p.
14 ibid. n.p.
15 ibid. n.p.
16 ibid. 132
17 ibid. 139
Ways of Seeing
Looking at the surrounding world is no simple act. Vision, at least to a certain extent, is what drives the act of perception as well as the human desire for knowledge. From the ancient times, there was a rich repertoire for the words describing vision. ‘As Bruno Snell says, “to begin with there were no one verb to refer to the function of sight as such, but (…) there were several verbs each designating a specific type of vision.”’1 Western philosophical thinking has always favoured ways of vision that are focused primarily on scrutiny and attention.
‘The knowledge achieved by the philosopher’s gaze is a knowledge free of images, shadows, reflections: it is a knowledge free of all sensuous and material limitation, and it is a knowledge free of perspectivism and its “distortions”, grasped all at once and once for all.’2 It is a form of vision that chases ‘a quest for certainty’3, it dissects and decodes evidence that try to lead to an objective truth. The observers allow their look to linger, to ponder and fixate on the object, trying to view it as a whole, not taking into account their own position and orientation in relation to that object. They are completely detached, failing to acknowledge the role of their body in their act of perception. There is, on the other hand, a different way of seeing, a more intense, rapid mode of vision, that lacks the scrutinisation of the gaze and makes the body part of the act of perception. The glance is light, spontaneous and intense. It is not something one learns how to do; it just happens at an instant, it grazes surfaces and moves on.4
‘The glance gets to know the world of its primary guises and allows for joyful wisdom and creative thinking.’5 It happens in the “now”, at the “here” and takes on a “perceptual mass” of information.6 The glance is somewhat innocent. It does not judge or filtrate, it merely perceives. It is also rather egoless;7 in the moment that I glance, I am being transported to where I am glancing, whilst being aware that I am glancing. I am not merely an observer; my body becomes a tool as well as a part of my perception. My way of looking becomes a bodily act.
These two modes of vision have been juxtaposed a plethora of times amongst philosophers. Still, in the ancient Greek setting - the earliest documented manifestation of where vision is the primary sense - the glance and the gaze existed as equals.8 The athenian landscape and climate set the ground for the ancient Athenian agora, a setting of encounter, knowledge, thought and desire; a setting embedded with cultural richness. Within it, buildings made up of white marble form irregular paths that lead to human encounters. This elaborate description of the particular setting triggers the question of how one can experience a place through different ways of seeing and whether the qualities of that place affect our perception. For example, through glancing we are able to capture moments and instances that allow us to experience the place we are in. The clarity of the radiating marble within the athenian scape makes that glance a powerful form of vision, that clings onto the clear surfaces and then proceeds into the depths. In contrast, the gaze might have been succumbed to the sclerosis of space, failing to absorb this never-ending mass of information. Maybe it is not an arbitrary fact that ancient Greek philosophers treated the glance and the gaze as equals. Perhaps, instead of being two opposing ways of looking, both modes of vision must be interchangeable in order to fully perceive the world.
Surface and Depth
One may argue that the glance could be a superficial way of seeing since it grasps the surfaces of things rather than plunging into the depths. However, both Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Edward S. Casey argue that ‘the depths are on the surface.’9 In his work ‘The Visible and the Invisible’, Merleau-Ponty reexamines the current ways of perceiving and predominantly the relationship between the perceiver (the Seer) and the world (the Visible and the Invisible). He claims that ‘the aim of a philosopher is to find the “sensible thing”, which, consequently, is assimilated to the objective or else the “surface of the thing”.10 The sensible ‘stops at my view’11, ‘it is the place where the invisible thing is captured by the visible.’12 Both Merleau-Ponty and Casey urge us to look at the obvious, at the thing that stands out; at the surface that will eventually lead us to its depths. In other words, it is the thing that is visible to us.
The Visible could be envisioned as a field or landscape; ‘it is something that exists at the here and now without transcendence and pregnant with texture.’13 On the other hand, the invisible is something that exists universally and immaterially; it transcends in between places and can only be grasped - even momentarily - through the visible.14 Merleau-Ponty emphasises on the fact that the invisible surrounds the visible. It lies within its secrecy because it suggests an ideality behind the visible.15 For instance, a red dress can be described as red because its colour is a true red, i.e. the invisible red, which is also the essence of the visible red, and we are able to imagine the invisible red because we see the visible red.16 In Casey’s words, the visible red (the surface), allows us to imagine the true red (the invisible red) and glancing is the tool that enables us to achieve that. The glance’s spontaneity and intensity fully grasps the surface, hence reaching the depths.
This interrelationship between the visible and the invisible is translated into the relationship of body to world. Merleau-Ponty states that there is an exchange between the phenomenal body and the objective body, the sensible and the sentient, the visible and the invisible. In the same way Casey claims that perceiving is a bodily act, Merleau-Ponty states that ‘a body is a thing among things, but it is also a Seer, a thing that sees other things.’17 Therefore, similarly to the act of glancing, the Seer perceives, while being aware that she is perceiving; the body being an inseparable part in the act of perception.
Looking at the surrounding world is no simple act. Vision, at least to a certain extent, is what drives the act of perception as well as the human desire for knowledge. From the ancient times, there was a rich repertoire for the words describing vision. ‘As Bruno Snell says, “to begin with there were no one verb to refer to the function of sight as such, but (…) there were several verbs each designating a specific type of vision.”’1 Western philosophical thinking has always favoured ways of vision that are focused primarily on scrutiny and attention.
‘The knowledge achieved by the philosopher’s gaze is a knowledge free of images, shadows, reflections: it is a knowledge free of all sensuous and material limitation, and it is a knowledge free of perspectivism and its “distortions”, grasped all at once and once for all.’2 It is a form of vision that chases ‘a quest for certainty’3, it dissects and decodes evidence that try to lead to an objective truth. The observers allow their look to linger, to ponder and fixate on the object, trying to view it as a whole, not taking into account their own position and orientation in relation to that object. They are completely detached, failing to acknowledge the role of their body in their act of perception. There is, on the other hand, a different way of seeing, a more intense, rapid mode of vision, that lacks the scrutinisation of the gaze and makes the body part of the act of perception. The glance is light, spontaneous and intense. It is not something one learns how to do; it just happens at an instant, it grazes surfaces and moves on.4
‘The glance gets to know the world of its primary guises and allows for joyful wisdom and creative thinking.’5 It happens in the “now”, at the “here” and takes on a “perceptual mass” of information.6 The glance is somewhat innocent. It does not judge or filtrate, it merely perceives. It is also rather egoless;7 in the moment that I glance, I am being transported to where I am glancing, whilst being aware that I am glancing. I am not merely an observer; my body becomes a tool as well as a part of my perception. My way of looking becomes a bodily act.
These two modes of vision have been juxtaposed a plethora of times amongst philosophers. Still, in the ancient Greek setting - the earliest documented manifestation of where vision is the primary sense - the glance and the gaze existed as equals.8 The athenian landscape and climate set the ground for the ancient Athenian agora, a setting of encounter, knowledge, thought and desire; a setting embedded with cultural richness. Within it, buildings made up of white marble form irregular paths that lead to human encounters. This elaborate description of the particular setting triggers the question of how one can experience a place through different ways of seeing and whether the qualities of that place affect our perception. For example, through glancing we are able to capture moments and instances that allow us to experience the place we are in. The clarity of the radiating marble within the athenian scape makes that glance a powerful form of vision, that clings onto the clear surfaces and then proceeds into the depths. In contrast, the gaze might have been succumbed to the sclerosis of space, failing to absorb this never-ending mass of information. Maybe it is not an arbitrary fact that ancient Greek philosophers treated the glance and the gaze as equals. Perhaps, instead of being two opposing ways of looking, both modes of vision must be interchangeable in order to fully perceive the world.
Surface and Depth
One may argue that the glance could be a superficial way of seeing since it grasps the surfaces of things rather than plunging into the depths. However, both Maurice Merleau-Ponty and Edward S. Casey argue that ‘the depths are on the surface.’9 In his work ‘The Visible and the Invisible’, Merleau-Ponty reexamines the current ways of perceiving and predominantly the relationship between the perceiver (the Seer) and the world (the Visible and the Invisible). He claims that ‘the aim of a philosopher is to find the “sensible thing”, which, consequently, is assimilated to the objective or else the “surface of the thing”.10 The sensible ‘stops at my view’11, ‘it is the place where the invisible thing is captured by the visible.’12 Both Merleau-Ponty and Casey urge us to look at the obvious, at the thing that stands out; at the surface that will eventually lead us to its depths. In other words, it is the thing that is visible to us.
The Visible could be envisioned as a field or landscape; ‘it is something that exists at the here and now without transcendence and pregnant with texture.’13 On the other hand, the invisible is something that exists universally and immaterially; it transcends in between places and can only be grasped - even momentarily - through the visible.14 Merleau-Ponty emphasises on the fact that the invisible surrounds the visible. It lies within its secrecy because it suggests an ideality behind the visible.15 For instance, a red dress can be described as red because its colour is a true red, i.e. the invisible red, which is also the essence of the visible red, and we are able to imagine the invisible red because we see the visible red.16 In Casey’s words, the visible red (the surface), allows us to imagine the true red (the invisible red) and glancing is the tool that enables us to achieve that. The glance’s spontaneity and intensity fully grasps the surface, hence reaching the depths.
This interrelationship between the visible and the invisible is translated into the relationship of body to world. Merleau-Ponty states that there is an exchange between the phenomenal body and the objective body, the sensible and the sentient, the visible and the invisible. In the same way Casey claims that perceiving is a bodily act, Merleau-Ponty states that ‘a body is a thing among things, but it is also a Seer, a thing that sees other things.’17 Therefore, similarly to the act of glancing, the Seer perceives, while being aware that she is perceiving; the body being an inseparable part in the act of perception.
WALK 02: TEXTURES
Tuesday 16th of April, 11:00
I am standing in an alley - completely deserted, feeling close to lonely. There is no movement that calls for my attention, so I start glancing ever so swiftly to get a sense of my setting. I am surrounded by tall and considerably degraded buildings, my eyes immediately drawn to their multiple and intricate textures. Others are well preserved, others are crumbling, falling off the walls in large and small pieces on the pavements. Some are painted in weird looking colours and others have become either grey or white - probably from the car fumes. The slight movement that makes me stop for a moment is the motion of the leaves that bring a somewhat hopeful note in my gloomy surroundings. I am thinking that the more static a setting is, the more restless my glancing becomes, eager to decode the context in which it exists and even to find something worthy of attention.
18 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and The Invisible, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1968), 50.
19 Casey, Edward. Getting Back Into Place (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 45.
20 ibid. 48
21 ibid. 52-53
22 ibid. 325
23 ibid. 321
24 ibid. 330
25 ibid. 348
26 ibid. 346
27 ibid. 330
28 ibid. 332
29 Casey, Edward. Getting Back Into Place (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 346.
30 ibid. 348
31 ibid. 332
32 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 135.
33 ibid. 135
34 ibid. 132
35 ibid. 132-134
36 ibid. 133-134
37 ibid. 138
38 ibid. 141-142
39 ibid. 141-142
40 ibid. 151
41 ibid. 145
42 ibid. 146
43 ibid. 140
44 ibid. 140
45 ibid. 141.
I am standing in an alley - completely deserted, feeling close to lonely. There is no movement that calls for my attention, so I start glancing ever so swiftly to get a sense of my setting. I am surrounded by tall and considerably degraded buildings, my eyes immediately drawn to their multiple and intricate textures. Others are well preserved, others are crumbling, falling off the walls in large and small pieces on the pavements. Some are painted in weird looking colours and others have become either grey or white - probably from the car fumes. The slight movement that makes me stop for a moment is the motion of the leaves that bring a somewhat hopeful note in my gloomy surroundings. I am thinking that the more static a setting is, the more restless my glancing becomes, eager to decode the context in which it exists and even to find something worthy of attention.
18 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and The Invisible, trans. Alphonso Lingis (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1968), 50.
19 Casey, Edward. Getting Back Into Place (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 45.
20 ibid. 48
21 ibid. 52-53
22 ibid. 325
23 ibid. 321
24 ibid. 330
25 ibid. 348
26 ibid. 346
27 ibid. 330
28 ibid. 332
29 Casey, Edward. Getting Back Into Place (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 346.
30 ibid. 348
31 ibid. 332
32 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 135.
33 ibid. 135
34 ibid. 132
35 ibid. 132-134
36 ibid. 133-134
37 ibid. 138
38 ibid. 141-142
39 ibid. 141-142
40 ibid. 151
41 ibid. 145
42 ibid. 146
43 ibid. 140
44 ibid. 140
45 ibid. 141.
Being into Place
The lived body is ‘the “common, but to us unknown, root” of all that comes to be classified in rigidly stratified ways in modern western thought.’18 The “surface and depth” or else “the visible and the invisible” are portrayals of a general concept of place and place-world, which is ultimately where the human body exists. The glance and the gaze are modes of vision that allow us to perceive this place however, in order to do so, one must first explore what place really is.
What does it mean “to be in a place, being here”? ‘Aristotle alone at least reconciled the importance of the human body with regard to place, when he said the dimensions of place, such as above and below, right and left, “come to be in relation to our position.”’19 My body becomes the vehicle that guides me within a place. It defines my actions, dictating my direction, my movement, my choices. It has the possibility to take an infinite number of actions, constantly posing itself and refiguring its position within a place.20
These are indications of how a body in place can be conceived.21 Undoubtedly, the body plays an important role when one exists within a place. ‘None of this integumentation between body and place would be possible without the freely moving members of the body as it situates itself in a particular place, remembers itself in that place, and so forth.’22 The body’s orientation, movement, gestures and bodily contact with its surroundings become the embodiment of our perception. It is only when we are aware of this awareness - of how our body perceives - that allows us to know a place. ‘There is no knowing or sensing a place except being in that place, and to be in that place is to be in a position to perceive it.’23
This interrelation between body and place implies that the latter is elastic and constantly changing. In part, it is defined and redefined through the lived body, taking on the qualities of their occupants.24 Casey states that ‘places gather bodies’25 and that this gathering can be seen as an event.26 Places do not merely exist but rather, they happen;27 accumulating the traits of the lived bodies that enter them. They gather memories, experiences, histories and cultures, belonging both in the “common” as well as the “particular” world.28
They can be broken down into categories such as home-place, work-place, visiting place29 and so on, but at the same time they remain in each individual’s memory as something different. Each occupant’s unique experience transforms a place into a singular place for them. Casey articulates the danger of viewing a place as ‘a tabula rasa, where human experience comes to be written.’30 The fact is that place is never static; in this continuous state of change and gathering, place is never blank, it always contains traces of past experiences and cultures while it continuously collects even more. It can always be ‘specifiable as this particular place or that one.’31
Glancing and Glazing
‘The gaze has a paradigmatic position in western philosophy.’32 Primarily, its purpose is to “wonder” (thaumazein). To perceive something in its fulness -without any restraints, prejudgement and presupposition, solely with ‘open-eyed amazement.’33 When I gaze at something, I allow my look to linger, to caress the surface of what I am looking at, or else to plunge into its depths patiently.34
The gaze has a duration, always aiming at reaching the essence of things and always triggered by the human interest.35 It can take multiple forms such as a soft focus, a visual fixation, an intense - and rather odd - look, a hostile stare or simply a scanning of surroundings.36 The gaze has a passion for objectivity, thus searching for evidence and scrutinising it in order to reach an objective truth. It is static and constant, always trying to be attentive and thorough. We can witness someone gazing by discerning their posture: the fixed position of the body, the steady head, followed by a highly “sober” look. The predominant weakness of the gaze is the absence of the the lived body during the act of perception. ‘When I gaze, (…) - the last thing which I take into account is my body.’37 The lack of awareness of my interpretative activity makes me a mere observer of the world, rather than a part of it. At the same time, this eagerness to gaze at things entirely and perceive them as a whole may lead to impartial and incomplete results.38 It is a great ambition to attempt to understand a thing in its fullness, since actually our bodies are unable to do so. The orientation of my head, for instance, only allows me to look at an object partially, from that particular angle; the rest of its features, I can only assume. As a result, this scrutinisation and analysis that occurs intensely through the gaze - and primarily within the mind - may lead to ‘tendentiously prejudicial readings’39 of the object.
‘Against the gaze, the glance proposes desire, proposes the body, in the durée of its practical activity.’40 It is spontaneous and experimental; it is provisional. It is constantly agitated and restless not wanting to find or stay with conclusive evidence. It never remains in the present, but always looks into the future in a state of constant temporality.41 It is able to escape ‘the fixed features and settled traits (…) of the social milieu.’42
On the contrary, the gaze is so keen to reach the depths that it fails to recognise the importance of the surface, by “surface” meaning a part of something, a material, a person, an event. It is of vital importance to note that this “part” is an integral part of an object, an essentiality, not merely ‘an adventurous piece of it.’43 The most commonly exerted criticism from western philosophers towards the glance is its superficiality, the fact that it only attains the surface of things. However, the depths, that the gaze is so content on reaching, are not detached from the surface but they are one with it. What the glance is able to do, is to make these depths reachable, the surfaces being ‘the only points of access to what lies beneath.’44
At the same time, we are inclined to examine the depths only when we have first noticed the surface of a thing.45 Without the glance then, we would not be able to conceive the existing depths. The glance precedes the gaze and any other form of vision that lasts more than an instant. On the other hand, the gaze could lead to a better understanding of the depths, provided that judgemental and prejudicial thought can be avoided, remaining in a state of pure wondering and open minded admiration.
The lived body is ‘the “common, but to us unknown, root” of all that comes to be classified in rigidly stratified ways in modern western thought.’18 The “surface and depth” or else “the visible and the invisible” are portrayals of a general concept of place and place-world, which is ultimately where the human body exists. The glance and the gaze are modes of vision that allow us to perceive this place however, in order to do so, one must first explore what place really is.
What does it mean “to be in a place, being here”? ‘Aristotle alone at least reconciled the importance of the human body with regard to place, when he said the dimensions of place, such as above and below, right and left, “come to be in relation to our position.”’19 My body becomes the vehicle that guides me within a place. It defines my actions, dictating my direction, my movement, my choices. It has the possibility to take an infinite number of actions, constantly posing itself and refiguring its position within a place.20
- I am here in part, subject to a localised here.
-
I am here of my body proper, sitting securely in my living room chair.
-
I am here of my by-body, being fully in motion.
-
I am in a regional here, being within all the places I can effectively move to.
- I am in an interpersonal here, accounting for all the human interactions that are within my path.
These are indications of how a body in place can be conceived.21 Undoubtedly, the body plays an important role when one exists within a place. ‘None of this integumentation between body and place would be possible without the freely moving members of the body as it situates itself in a particular place, remembers itself in that place, and so forth.’22 The body’s orientation, movement, gestures and bodily contact with its surroundings become the embodiment of our perception. It is only when we are aware of this awareness - of how our body perceives - that allows us to know a place. ‘There is no knowing or sensing a place except being in that place, and to be in that place is to be in a position to perceive it.’23
This interrelation between body and place implies that the latter is elastic and constantly changing. In part, it is defined and redefined through the lived body, taking on the qualities of their occupants.24 Casey states that ‘places gather bodies’25 and that this gathering can be seen as an event.26 Places do not merely exist but rather, they happen;27 accumulating the traits of the lived bodies that enter them. They gather memories, experiences, histories and cultures, belonging both in the “common” as well as the “particular” world.28
They can be broken down into categories such as home-place, work-place, visiting place29 and so on, but at the same time they remain in each individual’s memory as something different. Each occupant’s unique experience transforms a place into a singular place for them. Casey articulates the danger of viewing a place as ‘a tabula rasa, where human experience comes to be written.’30 The fact is that place is never static; in this continuous state of change and gathering, place is never blank, it always contains traces of past experiences and cultures while it continuously collects even more. It can always be ‘specifiable as this particular place or that one.’31
Glancing and Glazing
‘The gaze has a paradigmatic position in western philosophy.’32 Primarily, its purpose is to “wonder” (thaumazein). To perceive something in its fulness -without any restraints, prejudgement and presupposition, solely with ‘open-eyed amazement.’33 When I gaze at something, I allow my look to linger, to caress the surface of what I am looking at, or else to plunge into its depths patiently.34
The gaze has a duration, always aiming at reaching the essence of things and always triggered by the human interest.35 It can take multiple forms such as a soft focus, a visual fixation, an intense - and rather odd - look, a hostile stare or simply a scanning of surroundings.36 The gaze has a passion for objectivity, thus searching for evidence and scrutinising it in order to reach an objective truth. It is static and constant, always trying to be attentive and thorough. We can witness someone gazing by discerning their posture: the fixed position of the body, the steady head, followed by a highly “sober” look. The predominant weakness of the gaze is the absence of the the lived body during the act of perception. ‘When I gaze, (…) - the last thing which I take into account is my body.’37 The lack of awareness of my interpretative activity makes me a mere observer of the world, rather than a part of it. At the same time, this eagerness to gaze at things entirely and perceive them as a whole may lead to impartial and incomplete results.38 It is a great ambition to attempt to understand a thing in its fullness, since actually our bodies are unable to do so. The orientation of my head, for instance, only allows me to look at an object partially, from that particular angle; the rest of its features, I can only assume. As a result, this scrutinisation and analysis that occurs intensely through the gaze - and primarily within the mind - may lead to ‘tendentiously prejudicial readings’39 of the object.
‘Against the gaze, the glance proposes desire, proposes the body, in the durée of its practical activity.’40 It is spontaneous and experimental; it is provisional. It is constantly agitated and restless not wanting to find or stay with conclusive evidence. It never remains in the present, but always looks into the future in a state of constant temporality.41 It is able to escape ‘the fixed features and settled traits (…) of the social milieu.’42
On the contrary, the gaze is so keen to reach the depths that it fails to recognise the importance of the surface, by “surface” meaning a part of something, a material, a person, an event. It is of vital importance to note that this “part” is an integral part of an object, an essentiality, not merely ‘an adventurous piece of it.’43 The most commonly exerted criticism from western philosophers towards the glance is its superficiality, the fact that it only attains the surface of things. However, the depths, that the gaze is so content on reaching, are not detached from the surface but they are one with it. What the glance is able to do, is to make these depths reachable, the surfaces being ‘the only points of access to what lies beneath.’44
At the same time, we are inclined to examine the depths only when we have first noticed the surface of a thing.45 Without the glance then, we would not be able to conceive the existing depths. The glance precedes the gaze and any other form of vision that lasts more than an instant. On the other hand, the gaze could lead to a better understanding of the depths, provided that judgemental and prejudicial thought can be avoided, remaining in a state of pure wondering and open minded admiration.
WALK 03: ENCLOSURE
Monday 15th of April, 13:45
I am now walking along a pedestrian - commercial street, clearly defined as a linear path, enclosed from both sides through a continuous series of shops. The pace here is different, more slowed down. I can see people walking with a sense of direction but also, they stop to linger at the various store fronts and I - in turn - linger when looking at them, anticipating their reactions, their decisions. At the same time, I can not fail but ponder myself, when looking at all the objects that surround me. I glance rapidly and spontaneously, trying to identify the shops and artefacts that are within my proximity. Then my eyes freeze again; they stop to look at the people within the shops - both customers and salesmen. They move even more slowly than the people that walk past me, either deeply absorbed in their thoughts or in deep contemplation. Everything drifts, everything feels smooth, failing to become sharp and focused. This pedestrian street feels like an oasis of slowness, of lingering and pondering; and my eyes follow this motif.
46 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 144.
47 ibid. 163
48 ibid. 142
49 ibid. 163-164
I am now walking along a pedestrian - commercial street, clearly defined as a linear path, enclosed from both sides through a continuous series of shops. The pace here is different, more slowed down. I can see people walking with a sense of direction but also, they stop to linger at the various store fronts and I - in turn - linger when looking at them, anticipating their reactions, their decisions. At the same time, I can not fail but ponder myself, when looking at all the objects that surround me. I glance rapidly and spontaneously, trying to identify the shops and artefacts that are within my proximity. Then my eyes freeze again; they stop to look at the people within the shops - both customers and salesmen. They move even more slowly than the people that walk past me, either deeply absorbed in their thoughts or in deep contemplation. Everything drifts, everything feels smooth, failing to become sharp and focused. This pedestrian street feels like an oasis of slowness, of lingering and pondering; and my eyes follow this motif.
46 Casey, Edward. The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 144.
47 ibid. 163
48 ibid. 142
49 ibid. 163-164
The Sequence of Seeing
‘The surfaces and objects (including persons and events) we attain by glancing themselves, belong to places, ultimately to entire place-worlds.’46 These series of walks have taken place within different settings, all having inconsistent qualities and traits, their only common attribute being that they are all places - events - happenings - place-worlds. Throughout the text, there has been a comparison between the gaze and the glance as two different modes of vision. However, it is not a case of the two being opposite ways of seeing but rather assimilable, even slightly. ‘I glance as I gaze; I am glancing in my gazing.’47 When gazing an encounter for instance, my eyes became even more restless than when I was merely glancing with no obvious purpose. I glanced at their movement, gestures, clothes, colours, expressions, while simultaneously trying to discern what I was looking at. When everything were motionless, I was eager to satisfy my curiosity, thus urging my glance to become active and restless, bouncing off surfaces and textures only stopping at something enticing. Finally, when everything and everyone around me lingered, assimilating a slow pace of motion, my look became passive and contemplating. I was still perceiving my surroundings but without any passion or inquisitiveness.
Nevertheless, while being in all three settings, I realised that my gaze was made up of multiple glances. As Casey states, ‘I do not want to leave the impression that the glance and the gaze are equal partners, fellows in the flesh having the same valence and support. Instead, I want to suggest (…) that when the glance and the gaze are set beside one another the former is primus inter pares.’48 In other words, it is the predecessor of all other modes of seeing; without it we would be unable to grasp the surface let alone immerse into the depths of things. The glance will most likely never prevail in the field of vision, merely because it lacks the ambition of the gaze to grasp things as a whole and reaching the depths, but ultimately it is the ‘force of becoming’ in the way we see.49
‘The surfaces and objects (including persons and events) we attain by glancing themselves, belong to places, ultimately to entire place-worlds.’46 These series of walks have taken place within different settings, all having inconsistent qualities and traits, their only common attribute being that they are all places - events - happenings - place-worlds. Throughout the text, there has been a comparison between the gaze and the glance as two different modes of vision. However, it is not a case of the two being opposite ways of seeing but rather assimilable, even slightly. ‘I glance as I gaze; I am glancing in my gazing.’47 When gazing an encounter for instance, my eyes became even more restless than when I was merely glancing with no obvious purpose. I glanced at their movement, gestures, clothes, colours, expressions, while simultaneously trying to discern what I was looking at. When everything were motionless, I was eager to satisfy my curiosity, thus urging my glance to become active and restless, bouncing off surfaces and textures only stopping at something enticing. Finally, when everything and everyone around me lingered, assimilating a slow pace of motion, my look became passive and contemplating. I was still perceiving my surroundings but without any passion or inquisitiveness.
Nevertheless, while being in all three settings, I realised that my gaze was made up of multiple glances. As Casey states, ‘I do not want to leave the impression that the glance and the gaze are equal partners, fellows in the flesh having the same valence and support. Instead, I want to suggest (…) that when the glance and the gaze are set beside one another the former is primus inter pares.’48 In other words, it is the predecessor of all other modes of seeing; without it we would be unable to grasp the surface let alone immerse into the depths of things. The glance will most likely never prevail in the field of vision, merely because it lacks the ambition of the gaze to grasp things as a whole and reaching the depths, but ultimately it is the ‘force of becoming’ in the way we see.49
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