Chapter 1 of Ways of Seeing by John Berger

Seeing comes before words. The child perceives and recognizes objects before they can utter a sound. However, there is a second sense in which seeing precedes words. Seeing establishes our position within the environment we inhabit; we construct explanations for this world through language, but language cannot eliminate the fact that we are surrounded by it.

The relationship between what we observe and what we understand is never fully resolved. Every evening, we witness the sun setting. We are aware that the earth is rotating away from it. Nonetheless, the comprehension and explanation never perfectly align with our perception. Surrealist painter Magritte highlighted this constant discrepancy between words and sight in his painting titled "The Key of Dreams."

Our perception of objects is influenced by our prior knowledge or beliefs. During the Middle Ages, when individuals believed in the physical existence of Hell, the sight of flames would have held a different meaning than what it conveys today. Nevertheless, their concept of Hell was deeply rooted in the sight of fire consuming and leaving ashes, as well as their experience of burn pain.

When in love, the sight of the beloved possesses a completeness that no words or embrace can replicate. This completeness can only be temporarily accommodated through the act of passionate intimacy. However, this pre-verbal seeing, which cannot be entirely encompassed by words, is not simply a matter of automatically responding to stimuli.

To see is a deliberate act of choice. As a result of this intentional act, what we observe is brought within our grasp, though not necessarily within arm's reach. Touching something situates us in relation to it. By closing our eyes and moving around a room, we can observe how tactile perception functions as a limited form of sight.

We never focus on a single object; we are always examining the relationship between objects and ourselves. Our vision is constantly active, perpetually shifting, and continuously encircling itself, shaping our current experience. From a very young age, we are conscious that we can also be observed. The gaze of another individual merges with our own, providing a convincing justification for our presence in the visible world.

Accepting that we can see a distant hill, we simultaneously assert that from that vantage point, we are visible as well. The reciprocal nature of vision is more crucial than that of spoken communication. Frequently, dialogue aims to verbalize this experience - to explain how one perceives things, either metaphorically or literally, and to seek understanding of how another perceives them.

In the context of this book, all images are created by humans. An image is a visual representation that has been recreated or reproduced. It is an appearance or set of appearances detached from its original location and time, preserved for a brief duration or centuries. Each image encapsulates a unique perspective on the world. Even photographs, often mistakenly believed to be mechanical records, are not entirely objective.

Every time we examine a photograph, we are subtly aware of the photographer's selection of that particular scene from an endless array of possibilities. This holds true even in casual family snapshots. The photographer's perspective on what to capture is reflected in their choice of subject. The painter's perspective is reconstructed through the brushstrokes on the canvas or paper.

Despite the fact that every image embodies a specific way of seeing, our perception or appreciation of an image is also contingent upon our own way of seeing. For instance, Sheila might merely be one figure among twenty in a painting; however, for personal reasons, she becomes the figure we focus our attention on. Images were initially created to evoke the presence of something absent.

Over time, it became apparent that an image could transcend the object it represented, revealing how something or someone once appeared - and consequently, how others had seen the subject. Eventually, the individual vision of the image-maker was acknowledged as part of the record. An image became a testament to how X perceived V. This development was influenced by the growing individual consciousness and historical awareness, which emerged during the Renaissance in Europe.

This last development is difficult to precisely date, but it undoubtedly existed in Europe since the birth of the Renaissance. Unlike other remnants or texts from the past, images provide a more direct testimony about the world surrounding others at different times. Images are more precise and informative than literature. While this statement does not negate the expressive or imaginative qualities of art, it suggests that art should not be treated as mere documentary evidence; the more imaginative the work, the more profoundly it enables us to share the artist's experience of the visible.

However, when an image is presented as a work of art, the way people perceive it is influenced by a series of learned assumptions about art. Many of these assumptions are no longer in alignment with the present world. These assumptions distort the past, mystifying rather than clarifying. The past is not meant to be lived in; it serves as a repository of conclusions to guide our actions.

The mystification of the past results in a double loss. Artworks become unnecessarily distant, and the past offers fewer conclusions to apply in action. When we observe a landscape, we position ourselves within it. If we were to observe the art of the past, we would place ourselves within history. When prevented from seeing it, we are deprived of the history that belongs to us. Who benefits from this deprivation?