Blindness can take many forms. Physically, it is the affliction of being born sightless or losing sight later in life.

Figuratively, one might think of Milton’s darkness visible, which the poet uses to describe the hell which awaits Lucifer when he falls from grace.

Blindness can also be a self-inflicted punishment, as in Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex who puts out his own eyes to atone for an unspeakable sin.

Saramago’s epic novel opens at traffic light, where the first victim of a mysterious pandemic suddenly loses the ability to see. Chaos quickly ensues and then proceeds to engulf the city, bringing society to the very edge of cataclysm, only to lift again suddenly and inexplicably.

More broadly, blindness could refer to the human condition: to the ability to see but not comprehend. Think of a newly arrived immigrant unable to read or speak the language of her new home, trying desperately to navigate and adapt to a different culture.

An artist might feel paralyzed by losing his sense of wonder. Unable to break free from his own visual language and habitual practice, how can he seek out new avenues of expression or fresh lines of sight?

On a personal level, I might add that a photographer knows no greater fear than blindness.

And for that very reason, it is a subject worthy of artistic exploration.