What you find with your hand are the spaces, while your eyes find the objects.

Such a dynamic experience, very deep with curiosity and anxiety.

I keep thinking of the loss, that I lose my touch when my eyes are open. I’m separate from the pieces. When I was touching they were the whole world. I was inside the experience. My eyes are from the outside. Maybe it’s like Janus: turn the eye over to find the finger, turn the finger over, there’s the eye. They’re one organism. Then they can deepen each other.

Ordinary objects will never feel the same again.

You really get to know a piece. You know every little nuance and detail, whereas if you looked, you’d see it overall.

You just get to be. No expectations. You get to be and feel and there’s no right or wrong.

We take in so much visually and then think we know it.

At first I was afraid—how could I know? Then, upon first touch, joy, a different knowing,

This experience is very fundamental, basic, primitive, more direct than intellectual experiences and therefore stronger.

Information taken in through the fingers was tactile and spatial, but it was a sense of space I have never experienced before, because it was not made finite and given limits by visual measurement. I sensed in a way I've only toyed with before. It was like taking LSD.

It was a revelation. I loved crossing the taboo of touching art—like a feast I never thought would be offered.

We are a touch-deprived culture.  This art helps to heal that lack.

The scale is fixed with sight; in the imagination it can be very big or very small.

There was a visual field of darkness with the blindfold.  As soon as my hands went inside the opening, the visual field suddenly went much blacker, from charcoal grey to velvet black.

I imagined water had poured over the surface a long time. My hands were water.