The viewer is assumed to be standing with both feet on the ground looking with only one eye toward the horizon. It’s silly if that’s all you assume, but for this reason the painting is hung at eye height, whatever that is.
We suppose time had no beginning but that everything had a beginning. The discrepancy is from limiting identity. The circle is wider than we imagine.
No interesting form is finished in itself or as part of a whole. It should be seen as a step of becoming or a process of decaying, ink that dries, paper that yellows and becomes brittle. Light and air like paint is applied, dries, and darkens in time.
A first stroke is like the first scratch on a bone. Accidental, it had a use; intended, a purpose, like counting to one. Inevitably, we recognize a pattern in the lines that follows a pattern of life.
The work takes you with it, teaching you where to take it. As you try to structure it, it assumes its structure. It identifies you or you identify it, depending on how it works.
Two eyes set apart see different points of view that the mind combines as the antique stereoscope proves by placing a different photograph before each eye.
Two tall buildings at opposite ends of a boulevard are farther apart at their upper storeys than at their foundations although perceptual distortions make this impossible to see.
Thoughts of Klee