I was talking to somebody recently about drawing, and they made an observation about me. It stuck in my mind because it’s not the first time I’ve heard it said. I was told that I see things in a different way than most people.
It got me thinking. Do some people see the world through different eyes than others? Is it a purely physical thing, or an emotional and psychological one too?
The more I thought about it, the more chords it struck with me - the way I am, the way other people behave towards me, and of course the way I react to others.
Looking at it from a “physical” perspective, one upon a time I did art at college - and herein lies a secret - I am a far better artist than I will ever be a software developer. I spent the best part of a year studying the human form - drawing and painting people. It made me an incourageable people watcher, but perhaps not in the conventional sense. Where you might notice a pretty girl, I might notice the soft sheen the white hairs on her face make when they catch the light. Where you might notice she has pretty eyes, I might notice how dark the edge of her iris is, the shape of her eyebrow, or the curl of her eyelashes.
It sounds terrible, doesn’t it - picking the world to pieces. Not accepting the “bigger picture”. Perhaps the detail is where the real beauty is though - in the mechanics of things. My photo albums are filled not with pictures of great vistas, but of shadow draped architecture, sun bursts, interesting shapes, contrasts and unlikely blocks of colour.
Seeing the small things reminds me of the old maxim - “look after the pennies, and the pounds will look after themselves”. Perhaps that extends to other areas of my life too.
I tend to wander through this world in something of a simplified bubble. While my other half is the great organiser, planner, “do-er”, I am typically the one who follows along behind just being ready to “be there” when needed. It doesn’t mean I can’t do everything too - it just means I only come to the fore when things go awry and people have to be picked up, tears wiped way, and hands held.
It would be nice to think that people who’s lives have crossed mine remember me as the person who was just “there” when they needed somebody.