Jon Dorronsoro

There is a mineral discipline in the way a block of basalt or wood settles over the eye sockets and interrupts the light before it reaches the retina. I preserve the elegance of the gesture while that blind band rations out the exact portion of the world I am permitted to contemplate. The face remains intact, yet the place where the gaze should dwell is sealed off beneath the weight of an alien material. Perhaps concealing the pupil is the only way to protect identity from the voracity of other eyes.