Yet neither, it would seem, shall vision redeem me. I do not see beyond, within,
with, other, ever. I see only what presents itself (what makes itself present) to
vision, to this complex of nerve and cell and blood and tissue that is the human
eye. I do not see, for I only merely see.
Is it instead the camera, then, which truly sees? Does it see into, upon, around,
behind, beside, despite? Or do I deceive myself by such puerile hope, by such
quaint techno-romanticism [bei solch einer pintoresquischen Technikumsromantik].
These snapshots, postcards, anonymous mementos, these trifles of emulsion,
shadow, light: what do they see? How do they see what I merely see?
–Roberto Valaco, Notebooks (II, 3b, excerpt)