Seeing with Touch

Elara’s world, once an explosion of color, dissolved into a murky,

endless grey. The blindness came swiftly, stealing the reds of sunset and the

blues of her lover's eyes. Her canvases gathered dust, her brushes stiff

with disuse. She was an artist exiled from her craft, her soul aching

for light. One day, her searching hands found a bag of cold clay.

She pushed, pulled, pinched. It wasn't color, but it was form.

It was texture. She was learning to see with her fingertips. She returned to

the gallery not with a painting, but a sculpture—a raw, honest figure,