The Big Black Wall

The frame around our vision that is formed by the eye-sockets was identified by J.J. Gibson as a significant element in our self-identification. Whilst the view we have of our own embodiment, our body itself, changes as we move about, legs and arms shifting and turning, torso appearing and disappearing with every nod of the head, this frame for vision that borders our perception of the world is constantly present and relatively stable. It is one way that 'I' can be sure of itself in a world that constantly changes (to paraphrase David Cassidy). The frame, an I around the eye, visible as a dark grey or black border: a letter of condolence sent by infinity and eternity to locality and temporality.

The black border to perception, as noted elsewhere, is seen to extend outward and backward without any visible sign of an outer or rear limit. It is almost as if our eye (which we subjectively experience not as two but as one) was fixed half in and half out of the surface of an infinitely massive black wall, or more accurately a vast black mass that is always behind us. We seem to peep out of this dark immensity into the brightly lit room of the world before us. Moreover, the wall moves forward as we move, and as it moves it swallows up the furniture of the room into itself, and when we move backward so the wall also moves back, releasing the world into the light.

We might also notice that as the objects of the world approach us on their way to being consumed they increase in size. The tree in the distance, which I could cover with a fingernail, is now the size of my hand, and is now so close that only part of it is visible. As the tree passes the edge of my vision and is swallowed whole by the void it is the largest thing in my universe, blocking out every other entity, including the Sun itself. And then the tree is gone: vanished into the blackness, but I have no right to assume that it has stopped its manic exponential growth. If my growing relationship with the tree has taught me anything it is that the movement of myself and my wall in that certain direction causes the tree to increase in size. What evidence do I have that such growth will stop simply because the tree is no longer in the tiny frame of my eye? The answer is no evidence at all, I have to think that as I move the tree grows ever larger and that such growth is, in principle if not in practice, unstoppable. The vastness behind me is larger enough for infinity to enter and has plenty of room for all the forests of the world and more besides. The dark room at my back is all, and it is from this all that I am constantly developed.

If forward motion consumes the world and turns brightly-lit motes of dust into shadowy galaxies, then backward motion has the opposite effect. As the wall of my vision moves back so the tree reappears, newly formed from the coalescence of the darkness into clear bright light. And as this formation proceeds and the tree contracts to a harder and more coherent entity out there in the frame of sight, so it shrinks in size: hand, fingernail, grain of sand, until it winks out of visibility at the event horizon of my ability to make it out, and I am left looking at an infinitely small, infinitely dense, infinitely distant point, totally devoid of tree, branch, leaf, bark, or any substance at all. The immense size of that which was behind me is now balanced by the immense distance of that which is in front of me.



Sit on a train facing the engine.
Watch the world disappear behind the big black wall.
Swap seats so that you are facing the rear.
Watch the world shrink into being in front of you.