He Fa on Francis Bacon

Against the pale purple shirt, the two ends of the black tie hang apart rather than merging into one straight central line. Dark gray trousers and brown-gray lace-up shoes remain orderly, while the wristwatch reminds us that time continues. Wearing the painter Francis Bacon's outfit, I want to preserve one fork and see whether a person can take the next action without being entirely unified.

Unity is, of course, easier to narrate. If you like something, like it; if you oppose it, oppose it; preferably keep only one reason. Yet many actual choices contain both reluctance to part and a wish to leave, gratitude and dissatisfaction. Cutting off one end by force only makes the surviving explanation seem false. Acknowledging contradiction brings decisions closer to their circumstances and means later changes need not always imply that everything before was a lie.

This face of He Fa's adds no extravagant pain to the fork, as though contradiction could also be an ordinary arrangement. I want to let it step out of tragedy's halo. Having two thoughts need not immediately prove mental complexity; it simply calls for more distinction between what affects today and what can be discussed later. The two ends of the tie do not thereby gain the right to stop the body from putting on shoes.

The cost is that prolonged non-choice also produces results. If a partner is waiting for my reply, keeping all my possibilities open may deprive them of theirs. A provisional decision can be made explicit, with reservations and a review time, so uncertainty becomes visible to both. This sacrifices some perfection, but is more responsible than using another's waiting as a backdrop for the richness of my inner life.

The black tie still has two separate ends; I am in no hurry to sew them into one. But the shoes can first be set in one direction. Today's decision need not represent a permanently complete self. It only needs enough clarity for those about to act with me to arrange their own steps.