He Fa on Barthes

The jacket has a coarse mottled pattern, the knit beneath has V-neck ribbing, and the tie carries small square diamonds. Barthes's outfit seems to stack several reading speeds across one chest. The gaze first passes over broad patches of light and dark, and only then notices fine lines and small checks. I am in no hurry to sum up their meaning; first I ask why I have stopped at this particular texture.

Preference often arrives before explanation. A repetition feels pleasing, an edge makes us want to look longer, and only afterward do we find sufficiently respectable reasons. Admitting this sequence can make interpretation a little less falsely impartial. My looking has a body and habits. They need not be removed, but they should enter the judgment, rather than masquerade as the same command issued by the object to everyone.

He Fa's face above these textures resembles someone who has not read all the instructions beforehand. It interrupts the urge to read the clothes all the way into a complete personality: liking complex patterns need not mean complex thought, and another layer beneath does not prove deeper concealment. Details can raise questions without confirming every conjecture for me. The finer the explanation, the more it needs to know where imagination has entered.

Yet if we therefore permit ourselves to say only that we see a few lines, reading loses the pleasure of unfolding. Creative understanding may be bold, as long as it remains a proposal and allows another person to begin elsewhere. What matters is not refusing associations, but preventing a beautiful association from claiming the object's only possible use, so that even the wearer later changing an inner layer counts as betrayal.

I let my gaze rest for a moment on one small diamond on the tie, then allow it to move away. The jacket has other textures, and the knit still has parts not clearly seen. Reading may end here today, without my declaring that I have finally taken possession of every layer.