He Fa on Bergson

A tall white collar rises from the almost-black long coat, with a round ornament at the neck and a navy tie with a small pattern extending that patch of white downward. Bergson's outfit looks slow on me, as though the day can begin only once every layer is fastened. I want to start from the few minutes needed to get dressed and ask why equal lengths of time can have different densities.

A few minutes spent struggling with a button can be long; a few minutes spent looking at a favorite color pass quickly. These differences need not be mystified. They concern what the body is doing and expecting. Writing both intervals as the same number helps with arrangements, but easily overlooks the patience one of them actually needs.

He Fa's face has not become impeccably proper along with the stiff collar; the round nose and lowered eyelids retain their everyday rhythm. I want this face to remind me not to interpret every slowness as depth. Sometimes the clothes are simply hard to put on; sometimes I have not understood yet. Specifying the cause helps others decide how to wait more than proclaiming that I inhabit a superior kind of time.

Conversely, shared agreements cannot attend only to personal feelings. However rich my ten minutes may be, someone waiting at the door is still spending ten minutes of their own. Coordination requires translating inner rhythms into explanations for others: how much longer it will take, whether they can go ahead, or whether this cannot be finished today. Clarity will not erase the difference, but it finally gives others a chance to adjust.

I do not intend to remove the stiff white collar for the sake of fashion, nor ask everyone to slow down with me. The ornament remains at the neck, while time is divided into portions that can be negotiated. Showing up as agreed once dressed, or admitting in advance that I will not make it, is more practical than using a contemplative face to bestow meaning on a delay.