Beneath the face as a surface for signs, we see the skin in its carnality and vulnerability. We see the spasms, the wrinkles, the wounds on her skin, the urgency of her hunger, her thirst her cold, her fever, her fear or her despair. We are immediately afflicted with these wounds, these wants, this suffering. In our hands extended to clasp her hands, touch turns to tact and tenderness. And is there not often joy in the face before us, even joy in suffering? When another turns her eyes, she does not look in our eyes….. as we recall her look, loaded with possibilities she shapes, we paint them, we photograph them. Her eyes seek out first the vivacity and delight of the light in our eyes which summon her forth. The gaze of another that touches us lightly, this upsurge of force that affirms itself unrestrictedly as joy……joy at having known what is now lost, and joy in finding us.