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Memorie di un cieco. L'autoritratto e altre rovine
In this brilliant essay, Jacques Derrida explores issues of
vision, blindness, self-representation, and their relation to
drawing, while offering detailed readings of an extraordinary
collection of images. Selected by Derrida from the prints
and drawings department of the Louvre, the works depict
blindness—fictional, historical, and biblical. From Old
and New Testament scenes to the myth of Perseus and the
Gorgon and the blinding of Polyphemus, Derrida uncovers in
these images rich, provocative layers of interpretation.
For Derrida drawing is itself blind; as an act rooted in
memory and anticipation, drawing necessarily replaces one
kind of seeing (direct) with another (mediated). Ultimately,
he explains, the very lines which compose any drawing are
themselves never fully visible to the viewer since they exist
only in a tenuous state of multiple identities: as marks on
a page, as indicators of a contour. Lacking a "pure"
identity, the lines of a drawing summon the supplement of the
word, of verbal discourse, and, in doing so, obscure the
visual experience. Consequently, Derrida demonstrates, the
very act of depicting a blind person undertakes multiple
enactments and statements of blindness and sight.
Memoirs of the Blind is both a sophisticated
philosophical argument and a series of detailed readings.
Derrida provides compelling insights into famous and lesser
known works, interweaving analyses of texts—including
Diderot's Lettres sur les aveugles, the notion of
mnemonic art in Baudelaire's The Painter of Modern
Life, and Merleau-Ponty's The Visible and the
Invisible. Along with engaging meditations on the history
and philosophy of art, Derrida reveals the ways viewers
approach philosophical ideas through art, and the ways art
enriches philosophical reflection.
An exploration of sight, representation, and art,
Memoirs of the Blind extends and deepens the
meditation on vision and painting presented in Truth and
Painting. Readers of Derrida, both new and familiar, will
profit from this powerful contribution to the study of the
visual arts.
vision, blindness, self-representation, and their relation to
drawing, while offering detailed readings of an extraordinary
collection of images. Selected by Derrida from the prints
and drawings department of the Louvre, the works depict
blindness—fictional, historical, and biblical. From Old
and New Testament scenes to the myth of Perseus and the
Gorgon and the blinding of Polyphemus, Derrida uncovers in
these images rich, provocative layers of interpretation.
For Derrida drawing is itself blind; as an act rooted in
memory and anticipation, drawing necessarily replaces one
kind of seeing (direct) with another (mediated). Ultimately,
he explains, the very lines which compose any drawing are
themselves never fully visible to the viewer since they exist
only in a tenuous state of multiple identities: as marks on
a page, as indicators of a contour. Lacking a "pure"
identity, the lines of a drawing summon the supplement of the
word, of verbal discourse, and, in doing so, obscure the
visual experience. Consequently, Derrida demonstrates, the
very act of depicting a blind person undertakes multiple
enactments and statements of blindness and sight.
Memoirs of the Blind is both a sophisticated
philosophical argument and a series of detailed readings.
Derrida provides compelling insights into famous and lesser
known works, interweaving analyses of texts—including
Diderot's Lettres sur les aveugles, the notion of
mnemonic art in Baudelaire's The Painter of Modern
Life, and Merleau-Ponty's The Visible and the
Invisible. Along with engaging meditations on the history
and philosophy of art, Derrida reveals the ways viewers
approach philosophical ideas through art, and the ways art
enriches philosophical reflection.
An exploration of sight, representation, and art,
Memoirs of the Blind extends and deepens the
meditation on vision and painting presented in Truth and
Painting. Readers of Derrida, both new and familiar, will
profit from this powerful contribution to the study of the
visual arts.
176 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
17 people are currently reading
414 people want to read
About the author
Jacques Derrida
650 books1,796 followersJacques Derrida was a French philosopher best known for developing deconstruction, a method of critical analysis that questioned the stability of meaning in language, texts, and Western metaphysical thought. Born in Algeria, he studied at the École Normale Supérieure in Paris, where he was influenced by philosophers such as Heidegger, Husserl, and Levinas. His groundbreaking works, including Of Grammatology (1967), Writing and Difference (1967), and Speech and Phenomena (1967), positioned him at the center of intellectual debates on language, meaning, and interpretation.
Derrida argued that Western philosophy was structured around binary oppositions—such as speech over writing, presence over absence, or reason over emotion—that falsely privileged one term over the other. He introduced the concept of différance, which suggests that meaning is constantly deferred and never fully present, destabilizing the idea of fixed truth. His work engaged with a wide range of disciplines, including literature, psychoanalysis, political theory, and law, challenging conventional ways of thinking and interpretation.
Throughout his career, Derrida continued to explore ethical and political questions, particularly in works such as Specters of Marx (1993) and The Politics of Friendship (1994), which addressed democracy, justice, and responsibility. He held academic positions at institutions such as the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales and the University of California, Irvine, and remained an influential figure in both European and American intellectual circles. Despite criticism for his complex writing style and abstract concepts, Derrida’s ideas have left a lasting impact on contemporary philosophy, literary theory, and cultural criticism, reshaping the way meaning and language are understood in the modern world.
Derrida argued that Western philosophy was structured around binary oppositions—such as speech over writing, presence over absence, or reason over emotion—that falsely privileged one term over the other. He introduced the concept of différance, which suggests that meaning is constantly deferred and never fully present, destabilizing the idea of fixed truth. His work engaged with a wide range of disciplines, including literature, psychoanalysis, political theory, and law, challenging conventional ways of thinking and interpretation.
Throughout his career, Derrida continued to explore ethical and political questions, particularly in works such as Specters of Marx (1993) and The Politics of Friendship (1994), which addressed democracy, justice, and responsibility. He held academic positions at institutions such as the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales and the University of California, Irvine, and remained an influential figure in both European and American intellectual circles. Despite criticism for his complex writing style and abstract concepts, Derrida’s ideas have left a lasting impact on contemporary philosophy, literary theory, and cultural criticism, reshaping the way meaning and language are understood in the modern world.
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
June 29, 2014
Never does the eye of the Other recall this desire more sovereignly to the outside and to difference, to the law of disproportion, dissymetry and expropriation.
Dazzling and disorienting, Derrida provides a strange program, one where the artist is/remains blind between his subject and object, unable to draw while gazing and vice versa. All drawing is then the ruins of a self-portrait. This thesis is extended alongside truly gorgeous images from the Louvre catalogue. This leads to a poly-myopia where the reader/viewer is gazing back and forth while consulting footnotes and editor's notes about Derrida's wordplay. There are sidelong digressions upon blind authors: Homer, Milton, Joyce and Borges. Flipping back to the illustrations, we "see" images of the blind, the blindfolded and the being blinded: Samson, the Cyclops and the Gorgons are addressed here. Perseus and Odysseus are approached at length and then finally Nietzsche and Augustine fashion a dialogue. The concluding poem by Andrew Marvell is simply wrenching.
Dazzling and disorienting, Derrida provides a strange program, one where the artist is/remains blind between his subject and object, unable to draw while gazing and vice versa. All drawing is then the ruins of a self-portrait. This thesis is extended alongside truly gorgeous images from the Louvre catalogue. This leads to a poly-myopia where the reader/viewer is gazing back and forth while consulting footnotes and editor's notes about Derrida's wordplay. There are sidelong digressions upon blind authors: Homer, Milton, Joyce and Borges. Flipping back to the illustrations, we "see" images of the blind, the blindfolded and the being blinded: Samson, the Cyclops and the Gorgons are addressed here. Perseus and Odysseus are approached at length and then finally Nietzsche and Augustine fashion a dialogue. The concluding poem by Andrew Marvell is simply wrenching.
February 8, 2018
Those seeing tears
Chi ti guarda, di fronte, ti acceca. Intromettendosi tra te e lo specchio - ciò che ti è specchio -. Ora puoi solo generosamente piangere, se vuoi vedere.
Chi ti guarda, di fronte, ti acceca. Intromettendosi tra te e lo specchio - ciò che ti è specchio -. Ora puoi solo generosamente piangere, se vuoi vedere.
April 16, 2025
i could review, but i guess that'd just be a tracing of myself
June 3, 2025
I am currently writing my thesis where I use this book quite a lot so that must mean that I have something important to say about this book. The first thing that I want to say is that I am not an expert on Derrida, and a lot of things have flown over my head. There are many important insights here that I had to fight with in order to get an understanding of Derrida and this text specifically. If it is interesting and thoughtprovoking or even just fun, maybe I am saying something worthwhile to you. So here goes:
The most important insight in Derrida that I currently have is that structure is arbitrary but necessary. What I mean with this is that understanding something requires placing a certain structure on it for us to understand it in the first place. I have to use concepts to make it understandable, to structurize the thing that I am trying to understand. According to Derrida, we have to use this structure to understand, but because we are putting structure on the thing that we are trying to understand, we miss it. Let me elaborate on it by bringing drawing into the picture.
Derrida gives us an example of when he tries to draw:
"[I]t is as if, just as I was about to draw, I no longer saw the thing. For it immediately flees, drops out of sight, and almost nothing of it remains; it disappears before my eyes, which, in truth, no longer perceive anything but the mocking arrogance of this disappearing apparition. As long as it remains in front of me, the thing defies me, producing, as if by emanation, an invisibility that it reserves for me, a night of which I would be, in some way, the chosen one. It blinds me while making me attend the pitiful spectacle. By exposing me, by showing me up, it takes me to task but also makes me bear witness… The child within me wonders: how can one claim to look at both a model and the lines [traits] that one jealously dedicates with one’s own hand to the thing itself? Doesn’t one have to be blind to one or the other?" (MB, 36).
We must look away when we try to recreate something on a piece of paper, when we try to draw something that we see before us. But there is something more to it: we try to capture something, we want to make a representation of the represented, but what does this mean? The thing that we want to draw has to be absent for us to draw it. In its absence we try to make it present on the piece of paper. We use lines to capture what was once present, but that cannot be present.
Now it becomes a little more abstract: we put lines on the represented to capture it. In drawing, we decide what its limits or borders are; where it starts and where it ends. This is what the philosopher shares with the artist. The philosopher must make borders to talk about things. We must enframe the concepts in order to talk about them. To get an understanding of 'reality', we must put borders up. But in order to put these borders up, we must look away from this reality.
Derrida's subject are these borders, lines and contours. We cannot talk about them, because they provide our framework for meaning. For example, when one makes a representation in drawing with lines, how can we make a representation of the line itself? We must use a line to encapsulate it. Just as with philosphy, we must use understanding to get an understanding of understanding itself. But how would that even be possible?
We draw lines to see reality, but in order to draw these lines we must look away. We add structure to it, but that structure makes us blind to it. Derrida makes this known using the self-portret:
When you look at yourself in the mirror, you catch yourself and your gaze for a glimpse. However, we can only sense it when it is gone. It is only for an instant that we see ourselves seeing. Only in the memory, in structurizing it, we can see that glimpse. But because we structure it, we miss it:
"The failure to recapture the presence of the gaze outside of the abyss into which it is sinking is not an accident or weakness; it illustrates or rather figures the very chance of the work, the specter of the invisible that the work lets be seen without ever presenting" (MB, 68).
In the failure of seeing it, we catch a glimpse of something that we cannot see. In the failure, in its ruins, we see that glimpse, that moment. But we can only see it because it is not there.
When you look at a self-portret, you can only know that it is such when you are told from something outside of it. There is nothing in the painting itself that states that it is a self-portret. The gaze that the artist wanted to capture of himself is never present, but in that absence it is present. This is what experience is like; we constantly structurize, put our gaze on things, put borders up between things, to understand it and make sense of it. The structure of our own gaze can therefore never be seen because the structurizing is part of the seeing. We can only see this structure, so we are blind to whatever is outside of it. Because of this blindness we can see.
When we make a representation - whether it is in philosophy, drawing or experience itself - we partake in a certain kind of violence. The structure that we put on it is never necessary, because we cannot know whatever it is that we structure before we structure it.
When I draw a first line, I open up the blank space of the paper. I create something, a perspective, a division. The line itself is no object, but it makes objects known. There is nothing on the blank sheet of paper that makes a preference known; so every line is arbitrary. But, it is necessary in order for us to say anything about it. Experience is the same: we must draw lines in order to see, but these lines are making us blind for what we want to see. Things always appear as something, never as such.
Now we arrive at the final and hardest part: the essence of the eye. In the origin of our gaze is at the same time structure and ruins. They are intertwined and cannot be separated. We constantly draw lines, but these lines make us blind. The gaze unfolds experience, but because of that it also puts a veil on it.
The essence of the eye is not seeing, but weeping. We pray for a structure, for lines so that we can see. In this prayer we sacrifice the reality itself, we become blind to it. In the weeping that is our prayer, we cannot distinguish between the objects that we see, but that doesn't matter. What we see is veiled, and that is what is the essence of the eye. We see the ruins of the gaze, the arbitrary necessity of it. Representation is and ought to be a failure. But in that failure we catch a glimpse of the thing that we desperately try to represent, although only in its absence. Representation is the differance of the represented:
"Between seeing and weeping, he sees between and catches a glimpse of the difference, he keeps it, looks after it in memory – and this is the veil of tears – until finally, and from or with the ‘same eyes,’ the tears see" (MB, 128).
The most important insight in Derrida that I currently have is that structure is arbitrary but necessary. What I mean with this is that understanding something requires placing a certain structure on it for us to understand it in the first place. I have to use concepts to make it understandable, to structurize the thing that I am trying to understand. According to Derrida, we have to use this structure to understand, but because we are putting structure on the thing that we are trying to understand, we miss it. Let me elaborate on it by bringing drawing into the picture.
Derrida gives us an example of when he tries to draw:
"[I]t is as if, just as I was about to draw, I no longer saw the thing. For it immediately flees, drops out of sight, and almost nothing of it remains; it disappears before my eyes, which, in truth, no longer perceive anything but the mocking arrogance of this disappearing apparition. As long as it remains in front of me, the thing defies me, producing, as if by emanation, an invisibility that it reserves for me, a night of which I would be, in some way, the chosen one. It blinds me while making me attend the pitiful spectacle. By exposing me, by showing me up, it takes me to task but also makes me bear witness… The child within me wonders: how can one claim to look at both a model and the lines [traits] that one jealously dedicates with one’s own hand to the thing itself? Doesn’t one have to be blind to one or the other?" (MB, 36).
We must look away when we try to recreate something on a piece of paper, when we try to draw something that we see before us. But there is something more to it: we try to capture something, we want to make a representation of the represented, but what does this mean? The thing that we want to draw has to be absent for us to draw it. In its absence we try to make it present on the piece of paper. We use lines to capture what was once present, but that cannot be present.
Now it becomes a little more abstract: we put lines on the represented to capture it. In drawing, we decide what its limits or borders are; where it starts and where it ends. This is what the philosopher shares with the artist. The philosopher must make borders to talk about things. We must enframe the concepts in order to talk about them. To get an understanding of 'reality', we must put borders up. But in order to put these borders up, we must look away from this reality.
Derrida's subject are these borders, lines and contours. We cannot talk about them, because they provide our framework for meaning. For example, when one makes a representation in drawing with lines, how can we make a representation of the line itself? We must use a line to encapsulate it. Just as with philosphy, we must use understanding to get an understanding of understanding itself. But how would that even be possible?
We draw lines to see reality, but in order to draw these lines we must look away. We add structure to it, but that structure makes us blind to it. Derrida makes this known using the self-portret:
When you look at yourself in the mirror, you catch yourself and your gaze for a glimpse. However, we can only sense it when it is gone. It is only for an instant that we see ourselves seeing. Only in the memory, in structurizing it, we can see that glimpse. But because we structure it, we miss it:
"The failure to recapture the presence of the gaze outside of the abyss into which it is sinking is not an accident or weakness; it illustrates or rather figures the very chance of the work, the specter of the invisible that the work lets be seen without ever presenting" (MB, 68).
In the failure of seeing it, we catch a glimpse of something that we cannot see. In the failure, in its ruins, we see that glimpse, that moment. But we can only see it because it is not there.
When you look at a self-portret, you can only know that it is such when you are told from something outside of it. There is nothing in the painting itself that states that it is a self-portret. The gaze that the artist wanted to capture of himself is never present, but in that absence it is present. This is what experience is like; we constantly structurize, put our gaze on things, put borders up between things, to understand it and make sense of it. The structure of our own gaze can therefore never be seen because the structurizing is part of the seeing. We can only see this structure, so we are blind to whatever is outside of it. Because of this blindness we can see.
When we make a representation - whether it is in philosophy, drawing or experience itself - we partake in a certain kind of violence. The structure that we put on it is never necessary, because we cannot know whatever it is that we structure before we structure it.
When I draw a first line, I open up the blank space of the paper. I create something, a perspective, a division. The line itself is no object, but it makes objects known. There is nothing on the blank sheet of paper that makes a preference known; so every line is arbitrary. But, it is necessary in order for us to say anything about it. Experience is the same: we must draw lines in order to see, but these lines are making us blind for what we want to see. Things always appear as something, never as such.
Now we arrive at the final and hardest part: the essence of the eye. In the origin of our gaze is at the same time structure and ruins. They are intertwined and cannot be separated. We constantly draw lines, but these lines make us blind. The gaze unfolds experience, but because of that it also puts a veil on it.
The essence of the eye is not seeing, but weeping. We pray for a structure, for lines so that we can see. In this prayer we sacrifice the reality itself, we become blind to it. In the weeping that is our prayer, we cannot distinguish between the objects that we see, but that doesn't matter. What we see is veiled, and that is what is the essence of the eye. We see the ruins of the gaze, the arbitrary necessity of it. Representation is and ought to be a failure. But in that failure we catch a glimpse of the thing that we desperately try to represent, although only in its absence. Representation is the differance of the represented:
"Between seeing and weeping, he sees between and catches a glimpse of the difference, he keeps it, looks after it in memory – and this is the veil of tears – until finally, and from or with the ‘same eyes,’ the tears see" (MB, 128).
February 5, 2025
Most recent:
I first read this, oddly enough, before I spent 3 years working for 4 ophthalmologists in an eye clinic. One of the doctors was a reader and recommended a biography of James Joyce, who apparently had glaucoma. I still find eyes and eye problems fascinating and found myself wondering if Jacob and Joseph had genetic propensities towards cataracts.
Derrida's presentation could use some work, but the bones of something amazing are here, and since my brain isn't doing anything better with the fragments, it still stands as something worth thinking through. I particularly love his Old and New Testament connections. The seen versus the unseen versus the mis-seen.
First review:
Absolutely riveting. Who knew I would like Derrida? :) #unconventionalfriends
I first read this, oddly enough, before I spent 3 years working for 4 ophthalmologists in an eye clinic. One of the doctors was a reader and recommended a biography of James Joyce, who apparently had glaucoma. I still find eyes and eye problems fascinating and found myself wondering if Jacob and Joseph had genetic propensities towards cataracts.
Derrida's presentation could use some work, but the bones of something amazing are here, and since my brain isn't doing anything better with the fragments, it still stands as something worth thinking through. I particularly love his Old and New Testament connections. The seen versus the unseen versus the mis-seen.
First review:
Absolutely riveting. Who knew I would like Derrida? :) #unconventionalfriends
May 21, 2014
But he, thought blind of sight,
Despised and thought extinguished quite,
With inward eyes illuminated,
His fiery virtue roused
From under ashes into sudden flame ...
Despised and thought extinguished quite,
With inward eyes illuminated,
His fiery virtue roused
From under ashes into sudden flame ...
October 7, 2015
Derrida's so poetic, I often completely forget the ideas or arguments that make up the content of his writing, while isolated phrases remain standing on their own beauty.
January 13, 2025
This is a catalogue for an exhibition at the Louvre that inaugurated a series. For the first showing, Derrida was invited to curate. The series continued with Viviane Forrester (1991), Peter Greenaway (1992), Jean Starobinski (1994), Hubert Damisch (1995) and Julia Kristeva (1998). It is known that the catalogues by Starobinski, "Largesse," and Kristeva, "Capital Visions," have been published. There is a wonderful documentary film by Jean-Paul Fargier, "Mémoire d'aveugle," 1991, about this exhibition and Derrida's work on it.
The meditation is prefigurative of the handicap, fragility or the study of disability. The major question is of knowledge, as it traditionally was metaphorized as vision and thus figured in philosophy, religion, literature, visual art. In its adequation to itself this knowledge as specular and theoretical is either lacking or excessive, ever supplemented in hypothesis, endured as misprision. The metaphor of vision to describe meaning is tightly linked to its opposite, the unbeseen, l'invu. Thus blindness is uncovered in a sequence and fraternity of the night of the spectacular dazzlements. The night as eternal return where the seers meet and recognize each other.
The transcendental is not visible, the blind spot is the centre of perspective. Its theological significance is approached via phenomenal aesthetics. The graphic uncovers or harks back to the trace and inscription as they had earlier been interpreted semiologically: the apparition returns from the sign; graphein before reference or representation is graced as gift and debt. How does the concept of the transcendental as invisible align with the idea of a blind spot in perspective as it emerged in art history? What is proper or self is neither image nor visible, but is their eclipsed precondition, retreated. Freud: the eye acts like an actual genital (« Psychogenic disturbance of vision », 1910). Derrida: the tears are a lubricating essence, secretion, and their pathos is the experience of revelation, the truth of truth as aletheia and apocalypse. In them is uncovered the essence of human divinity. Imprecating, imploring.
Among so many others, one wonders at the inexhaustibly creative grafting of ideas: supplement and prosthetics (of the senses and the body), fratricide, fetishism, inheritance, scar, the ruin and narcissism, the eclipse, hypothèque, the limit and the point, the transcendental and the sacrificial, the gender, the spectrality, monocular cyclops as unification of the doubleness, providence and election, aperspective, skiagraphie, abocular etc. This is deconstruction in supreme deftness and stylistic verve, in accessible language and lavishly illustrated, where its unfolding relies on drawing and on renowned motifs from literature.
The meditation is prefigurative of the handicap, fragility or the study of disability. The major question is of knowledge, as it traditionally was metaphorized as vision and thus figured in philosophy, religion, literature, visual art. In its adequation to itself this knowledge as specular and theoretical is either lacking or excessive, ever supplemented in hypothesis, endured as misprision. The metaphor of vision to describe meaning is tightly linked to its opposite, the unbeseen, l'invu. Thus blindness is uncovered in a sequence and fraternity of the night of the spectacular dazzlements. The night as eternal return where the seers meet and recognize each other.
The transcendental is not visible, the blind spot is the centre of perspective. Its theological significance is approached via phenomenal aesthetics. The graphic uncovers or harks back to the trace and inscription as they had earlier been interpreted semiologically: the apparition returns from the sign; graphein before reference or representation is graced as gift and debt. How does the concept of the transcendental as invisible align with the idea of a blind spot in perspective as it emerged in art history? What is proper or self is neither image nor visible, but is their eclipsed precondition, retreated. Freud: the eye acts like an actual genital (« Psychogenic disturbance of vision », 1910). Derrida: the tears are a lubricating essence, secretion, and their pathos is the experience of revelation, the truth of truth as aletheia and apocalypse. In them is uncovered the essence of human divinity. Imprecating, imploring.
Among so many others, one wonders at the inexhaustibly creative grafting of ideas: supplement and prosthetics (of the senses and the body), fratricide, fetishism, inheritance, scar, the ruin and narcissism, the eclipse, hypothèque, the limit and the point, the transcendental and the sacrificial, the gender, the spectrality, monocular cyclops as unification of the doubleness, providence and election, aperspective, skiagraphie, abocular etc. This is deconstruction in supreme deftness and stylistic verve, in accessible language and lavishly illustrated, where its unfolding relies on drawing and on renowned motifs from literature.
February 16, 2025
"the blindness that opens the eye is not the one that darkens vision. The revelatory or apocalyptic blindness, the blindness that reveals the very truth of the eyes, would be the gaze veiled by tears. It neither sees nor does not see: it is indifferent to its blurred vision. It implores: first of all in order to know from where these tears well up and from whom this mourning or these tears of joy? This essence of eye, this eye water?"
Want to read
September 14, 2019"(...)
Open then, mine eyes, your double sluice
And practice so your noblest use;
For others too can see, or sleep,
But only human eyes can weep.
So let your streams o' erflow your springs,
Till eyes and tears be the same things:
And each the other's difference bears,
These weeping eyes these seeing tears
-Des larmes que voient...vous croyez?
-Je ne sais pas...I'll faut croire."
Open then, mine eyes, your double sluice
And practice so your noblest use;
For others too can see, or sleep,
But only human eyes can weep.
So let your streams o' erflow your springs,
Till eyes and tears be the same things:
And each the other's difference bears,
These weeping eyes these seeing tears
-Des larmes que voient...vous croyez?
-Je ne sais pas...I'll faut croire."
May 30, 2021
i can't believe i hadn't rated this yet.
October 8, 2021
Derrida's playful linguistic and philosophical romp through blindness and portraiture and many other things, surrounded by reference material from the Louvre.
May 19, 2022
Tratto una memoria citando una citazione ri-portata e vista:
"For others too can see, or sleep,
But only humane eyes can weep."
"For others too can see, or sleep,
But only humane eyes can weep."
March 29, 2008
I absolutely love this book! This is one of (if not the) my favorite Derrida books!
June 25, 2008
real cool concept, really well done and put together by two of my professors from DePaul University, Michael Naas and Simone Zurawski.
May 5, 2014
Voluptatibus quia excepturi dolor minima. Ut quae et. Quisquam molestias inventore. Praesentium quod ut.
June 12, 2011
If you read nothing else by Derrida -- Read this.
Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews