The Tribune

By DIANE PHILLIPS

Dawn we wake, we open our eyes to a world we create.

The walls may be fixed, the sun may shine, the rain may pour, the curtains or blinds might blow in the breeze or the overhead fan whir gently with a sound we barely notice. A thousand people could wake to the same physical fixtures – four walls, the view outside the window, the whirring fan – and there would be a thousand interpretations. No two individuals will see the same scene the same way despite the irrefutable fact that the scene is precisely the same.

So from the moment we open our eyes, we create a world unique to us, curated through the lens of our lives. It is our world, our day we plan, a place and a life only we can inhabit because it, as we see it, exists only in our unique mind. A day we see the world through a lens no one else can ever see.

Would it matter if we never thought about the lens through which each of us views the same thing? Maybe, maybe not. But it helps to explain a lot and maybe make us more forgiving when others don’t see things as we want or expect them to. That may be even more important when you add imagination and curiosity to the mix of the lenses through which others view the world around them. It explains, too, why two people can look at the same thing and see two entirely different objects or scenarios.

What colour was that dress?

In its simplest form, seeing the same thing in a different way was exemplified by a photograph of a dress in 2015 that sparked a debate over its colour - was the dress blue and black or gold and white? The debate went viral. Voting was so fast and furious that at one point, it became known as the dress that broke the internet. Ten million people chimed in, ten million adamant they were right though only a portion of them could be. It is not what is there that matters so much as what someone sees as being there. Perception versus reality? Or perception becomes reality?

Understanding the difference in the lenses through which others see a world that to us looks so clear or different from their version is half the equation. The other half could be more important. That is the difference between seeing the existing and envisioning what is not, the difference between the technician and the visionary.

The difference in the lens through which we view the world around us explains why one person driving along Bay Street looks over at Elizabeth Avenue and the view of Victoria Court and sees a wreck of a building nearly destroyed by fire and another drives by and sees an historic architectural gem that survived the fire and begs to be repaired and given new life.

Reality remains, lenses change

Few who drive by are likely to think about the people who moved back into the first several floors of the building and resumed their lives while others who occupied the top two floors were left homeless. Few who drive by are likely to wonder what happened to the Philippine restaurant across the way that was also a victim of the fire. The lens through which they view that part of town is different for those who occupy it and those who merely drive through or past it. The reality remains, the lenses change.

The difference in the lens through which we see the world explains, too, why another individual driving in that same area looks at a lot jampacked with heavy construction equipment and thinks “why don’t they cover that up?” and another person passing the same waterfront property think of it as underutilised prime real estate and instantly envisions an attractive development, lush with green space, shade trees, urban jogging trail, dining and retail spaces on the ground floor and downtown residential properties rising above.

Outlier

Every now and then, though, there is an outlier - a site, a fixture, a building, an idea so dramatic that for a moment it seems as though the whole world is seeing it through the same lens.

One such example popped up this week. The just completed not very straight, definitely not wanted, too high wall at Go Slow Bend on West Bay Street. Concrete was not dry yet when the public outrage exploded. “Tear down the wall,” strangers urged as if it there were throngs of people waiting to get to freedom behind it.

The polite take on the erection of the wall suddenly blocking the view went something like this: “What were they thinking?” The slightly less polite referred to sweetheart contracts but as there is no evidence of that, I refrain from hinting such is the case. The most blasphemous remarks were exactly what you are thinking so out of a nod to decorum, I refrain from mentioning them plus I don’t think the paper would actually print those words.

But here was a sample of a common reaction to something which displeased the public so intently that for once, it seemed we were viewing the streetside disaster through a single lens.

For anyone who does not know the story or lives in a remote Family Island, a low wall that served as a border to an overlook that was one of the most scenic spots in all of New Providence, if not the most scenic, had been knocked down.

Some sort of repair appeared to have started. For months, plywood and scraps piled up. Work started and stopped. The stones of the old wall remained but not highly visible. In all, it was an unsightly mess, but you could still see the beauty and hope for better once the new low wall was finally erected. You did not have to be rich or live behind a gate in an exclusive beachfront community to catch your stunning view of the bay and Baha Mar in the distance. It was photo op perfection. At low tide, visitors and locals could walk just feet away from traffic whizzing by and dip their toes in the sand, walk along the moss-covered outcropping of low-lying rock, stand in the shallows leading to the bay with the hotels of Cable Beach in the background.

Waters so reachable, vista so stunning

Even if you just drove by, you could not help but feel inspired by the sight of the blue-green waters so close to the road, so reachable. You could pull your car over and walk out onto its welcome mossy mat at any hour. It was more than a bend in the road. It was the visual opioid of a feel-good moment of well-being, an all is right in the world instant – and then the wall came. The long-awaited repair. It blocked the view of the low crop of rock, the entry into the water, the slow tidal flow, the movement of the current. It was too high, too wide, the wrong wall in the wrong place. And the public outcry was instantaneous. Tear down the wall.

It is the lens through which we see the world that determines the world we create around us. In the example of the individual who saw a mess of heavy equipment in a highly visible space, we have no expectations that he will do anything about it. He is neither interested nor feeling empowered to change it. The sight was just an observation. However, the individual who looked at the lot piled high with construction machinery saw an opportunity to change the scenario from eyesore (though perfectly legal) to a space ripe for economic resurgence. That person might act, form a consortium, raise capital and spark a revitalisation.

Those are possibilities though they may be long shots. But Go Slow Bend was different. Mention the words and your heart rate slowed. In a city of too many vehicles and too little patience, Go Slow Bend was a lookout point that simultaneously took your breath away and gave you new reason to keep going. It was, in a way, a rest stop you did not have to stop at to feel rested. It was our view of the world as we wanted it to wait for us to dip our toes in, our invitation to look and wish we could stop and just be. It was a moment of eye candy, of inhalable peace in a world of congestion.

The Champs-Elysees would not block the view of the Arc de Triomphe. Why would we deprive ourselves of the only major thoroughfare vista that looked like an artist painted it just for us, laid the water out to soothe our souls, added an outcropping of rocks and mossy grasses and bay you could walk on for a hundred yards at low tide, blending into the sea beyond.

It was a place that spoke to us, nudging us to stop, take a break, breathe in the beauty. It was a view that only Go Slow Bend allowed, no matter what lens through which you inhaled its beauty.