He Fa on Tutankhamun's Gold Mask

A gold-and-blue striped headdress spreads into broad planes on either side; long black eyeliner, a serpent ornament on the forehead and a narrow false beard frame the face completely. Beneath it, white pleated clothing covers only a very small body, both hands flat before the belly. The association with Tutankhamun's gold mask overwhelms proportion, yet He Fa's low eyelids retain a less-than-solemn slowness on the golden surface.

The mask does not hide the face in this image; it enlarges it until it cannot be bypassed. Through it, I think about how one sign can stand in front of many different things. Recognizing gold and blue, people readily feel they have encountered an entire history. What they first receive is a set of powerful appearances; the details behind them still need approaching one by one.

The small body does not adequately explain the giant head; it only makes the task of carrying conspicuous. If all attention falls on the golden face, how the wearer stands and where the hands rest recede, like particular relations often omitted beneath grand terms. I do not turn this visual disparity directly into a historical conclusion, but am willing to take it as a reminder: a representation and what it represents may not share the same proportions.

Nor do I want to reject a sign's attraction because it simplifies. People are often drawn by a shape before becoming willing to learn more. What matters is allowing attraction to keep opening outward, rather than treating familiarity as knowledge and knowledge as authority to conclude on every detail. The cool face retains a little dissatisfaction within the golden mask, preventing splendor from closing the matter smoothly.

Golden feet stand on a little black base, and the stripes still shine. I am willing to admit that I recognize it, and to stop that sentence where knowing has only just begun.