Our eyes evolved for light, but it is at its edges that we see most clearly. It is in the transformative glow of the sun's predictable retreat and re-emergence where the world flaunts its beauty, where light meets darkness, that we begin to understand the shape of things. Our eyes may be blind in the night, but it is in darkness that long-dormant senses, like vestiges of some forgotten evolutionary path, awaken.
Guilmoth, who resides in rural Maine, has long found solace and clarity in landscapes after dark, in space that continues to evolve in significance alongside her recent journey through transition. 'I've always felt comfortable at night; I feel very at ease,' Guilmoth tells me. 'Even before feeling like I was being watched for that reason, for being a visibly trans person out in the world, I think my fears have always been about people rather than anything that wakes up at night.'
Just as the treacherous beauty of the spider's web reveals itself only when caught in the glimmer of a rare slant of light, so too do objects in the world define themselves in our attention. 'During the day,' Guilmoth explains, 'I tend to take it all in rather than focusing on one detailed part of something. At night, there is more discovery. It almost feels like hidden treasure.'
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