To whom the blackbird sings, I hope he finds you well.[1]
My name is Yvette and I have since birth been without the use of my eyes. I will not say I have been blind. I see. But unlike you, images do not come in a steady, unbidden flow. The world does not wash up upon my eyes. Like a mariner, a fisherman, an explorer, I go and seek. And I do not let slop one single drop of vision. Can you imagine such a thirst that cannot be quenched?
No, seeing for me is much more like sculpture and darkness the stone from which I chip black shards, honing in hungrily upon the forms that lie within. Each statue I reveal has a place in my gallery. Faces, animals, entire forests of trees bend upwards through my mind. I walk amongst my works and by the echo of my footsteps off their contours know myself, my presence, my weight, my shape. My fingers are the tools by which I have acquired my menagerie. But my reach is short. I cannot, as most may now, travel the globe through daguerrotype and cinematograph depiction. I do not want to be left behind here in my little world. I want to see more, know more, become more. Please help me. Please send me a piece of your world so that I may touch it, trace its lines and involve them with mine. Something unique to your location, or perhaps, even more precious, something unique to you.
Within this note you have found wrapped about Hermes’ talon there is, you see, a five franc note. Unless I underestimate my little messenger’s endurance this should prove ample postage. If you choose not to assist me please reattach this note and Hermes will bear it onwards. He will not return to me until his message is delivered.
Yours faithfully,
Yvette Briel
23 Rue Patomeneux
Reims, Champagne,
France.[2]
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