Contours, outlines, lines. Space delineations. Contours that help us orient ourselves. Or, perhaps, swirl us around, like vertigo. Contours that lead us and limit us. What is the place for the things of the world in the world, how much space a movement, an object can take, what is the likelihood that everything will come through as a whole, a gestalt? Contours that cut through the space and place and determine them, arrange them, regulate them.

Proportional geometrical shapes. Everything is represented by symmetry and relationships (correlation and proportion). As if all is measured up precisely, even a individual’s position in the photographs. As if the world is predetermined to seek perfection. Still, this world, reflected in photographs, is artificial; it is created, manufactured, planned. Planned buildings, planned refractions, planned reflections, just a like an author is capable of imagining. It is not that the photographs or an accidental passer-by are planned; the moment is not captured, only objects, present in the moment of being.

Each contour and figure is controlled. Controlled, as in constructed under our watchful eye. As if this makes us safer. As if, by controlling the contours, we can predict what will happen next. As if by doing so, we obtain a greater sense of security. Psychologically, our sense of security is stronger, but it is only a refraction, as when light is reflected on a building wall, contoured in a dark window.