Second Letter:The Light That Emerges from Absence

Dear Ilke,

Perhaps what is visible is not merely a moment doomed to disappear, but something that can only exist as long as it is vanishing. This tension between presence and absence is not just the foundation of art but of existence itself, isn’t it? Like a sculpture for the blind that only becomes perceptible through touch, presence gains meaning only through absence.

I have been thinking about Velázquez’s portrait of Aesop—his face, his gaze, the book in his hand. None of these elements exist simply because the painter depicted them; they hold depth because of the shadows that partially conceal them. In painting, drawing from life turns into presence. But a single excessive line, an exaggerated highlight, can suddenly reveal too much, stripping the image of its vitality. To subtract is just as essential as to create.

What you said about Barceló’s sculptures for the blind made me think. Doesn’t touch, in some way, create light? A blind person’s hands do not merely trace surfaces—they uncover meaning hidden beneath them. Light itself cannot be painted because it emerges from relationships, from contrast, from what is left unseen. Perhaps an artist can only truly see when they first understand the void within the figure.

This is why the idea that an artist must first be blind before they can see makes sense. Art is not only about what is revealed but also about what is withheld. I think of Brancusi’s heads—their polished surfaces are almost as pure as absence, yet that is precisely why they exist. We may never know whether what we hold in our hands is an empty shell or a seed that has yet to open. But perhaps light only appears in the act of seeking to understand it.

So maybe we should take the question one step further: Is what we see merely a moment destined to disappear, or must it vanish in order to endure?

Best,
İlke