Negative Space
Artist Unknown Negative Space The doctor said it gently, laying down a wash of gray— soft, neutral, inevitable. As if blindness were a background tone and not the sudden theft of every horizon I had ever leaned against. My eyes—once twin galleries— began closing exhibits without notice. Edges smudged. Lines wandered. Light, that old accomplice, turned state’s witness. The page, once obedient, now played dumb. Colors left first. Red resigned in a quiet letter. Blue slipped out the back door. Green held on like a loyal dog until it, too, would not come when called. I mistook grief for anger. Shouted at the canvas. Dark was stealing my best material—afternoon pooling gold on brick, sunlight shining a blue note in a stranger’s coat, or a sly chiaroscuro of her shoulder turning away. But darkness is not a thief, it's an editor. Ruthless, yes—but precise. In thinning light I notice how sound has contour. How a footstep carries weight and weather. How breath can lean. How a r...
