The Future Looks Bright - Literally
- Richard M Crosbie
- 5 days ago
- 8 min read
Eye Health as an Artist.
The Curious Incident of the Missing Clock
It all began one morning about six months ago when I woke up, one side of my face pressed into the pillow. With one eye open, I looked up to find that the clock, which usually sat on the shelf above my bed, was missing.
"That’s odd," I thought. "Who moved the clock?"
As I rolled out of bed to inspect the shelf more closely, I was surprised to see the clock back in its usual place. A flurry of thoughts raced through my mind: ‘Am I going mad? Did I imagine that? Am I still asleep? What is going on?’
Reflecting on this event, I realised that the gradual loss of sight in my right eye had been seeping into my daily routine. It had become increasingly difficult to focus while sketching outdoors, and my eyes often lost clarity when I attempted to paint details at home and I could no longer focus on my choir’s music sheets at our weekly practice. But that morning, the moment I awoke to find the clock missing, I knew something wasn’t quite right.
I decided to skip a visit to the local optician and instead made an appointment with a specialist right away.
The Little Farmhouse
There is a peculiar minimalist beauty in the landscape illustrations used during eye exams by ophthalmologists. As I peered through a pinhole in the large machine known as an autorefractor, I found myself staring at an image of a red-roofed farmhouse on the horizon. Below lay a green field, and above, a blue sky—quite lovely, despite the awkward way my head was pressed against the machine, my chin nestled in a groove.
This scene is likely familiar to many who have experienced the mystery of eye exams. Sometimes the farmhouse is replaced by a hot air balloon, or the field features a white picket fence with a path leading into the distance. As I focused, the image of the farmhouse shifted in and out of clarity while the machine beeped and performed its function. Countless artists have created parodies and memes of these eye test images, yet the original creator of what must be one of the most widely viewed images in the world remains unknown.
After undergoing a few more tests, including the intriguingly named "Eye Puff Machine" and another that felt akin to gazing into a mini nightclub, I finally sat down with the ophthalmologist to discuss the results. I was diagnosed with a deep-set cataract in my right eye, a type associated with potential complications. In that moment, it felt as if I had been punched in the nose (or should that be poked in the eye?). Reality checks and disappointing news often hit us that way.
My Abstract Period?
A cataract is the clouding of the eye's natural lens leading to blurry and faded vision most often caused by ageing. However, like most of the injuries I have suffered over the years I suspected it was probably due to something that ‘I’ve done to myself’. Like how my previous fixation with running had ruined my knees, or hours in the gym lifting weights had snapped a shoulder ligament.
This current situation I am convinced was due to my intense use of my eyesight when painting and sketching as I pursued my art journey. Yup, I’ve overdone it again!
When I mentioned my situation to a few artists friends they joked that I was moving into my ‘abstract’ period. It’s interesting to note how several renowned artists, including Claude Monet, Edgar Degas, and Mary Cassatt, encountered cataracts or other eye conditions that significantly influenced their later works. These challenges led to shifts in their colour palettes or softer details, while some even changed mediums. This demonstrates how vision impairment can transform an artistic style.
The famous Impressionist painter Claude Monet suffered from cataracts that altered his perception of colour. He began to see more yellows and reds, while blues and purples faded, resulting in a looser, more abstract brushwork in his later ‘Water Lilies’ series.
Edgar Degas another great Impressionist, dealt with retinal disease, which led to washed-out details and softer edges while the painter Mary Cassatt, shifted from oils to pastels, as her vision deteriorated.
The main issues experienced by artists with cataract or visual loss is colour shifts, since cataracts scatter light, often intensifying yellows and reds while muting blues and purples, evident in Monet's work. Also there is the obvious loss of detail when blurred vision and retinal issues resulted in softer lines and less precise forms. I'm not sure If I experienced any colour shifts in my own work, but I definately found it harder to focus on details.
Fingerprints on the Ceiling
Several follow up consultations, second opinions, waiting room hours and referrals final lead me to the moment I lay looking up with one good eye, at some fingerprints on a drab ceiling of an over air conditioned operating theatre at St. Teresa’s Hospital, in Kowloon, Hong Kong.
I wondered how the prints had got there and also if anyone in the hospital had noticed. I also thought that Hospitals should really look into investing more into their User Experience and maybe I could place some artwork on the ceiling for patients to enjoy. Something to look into perhaps?
As I lay shivering under a blanket with hands hooked up to machines, I reviewed the previous surgeon’s briefings and list of potential complications in my head and now that the moment had arrived for the actual procedure I wondered if it was worth it. The leap of faith into the unknown. I suddenly felt very alone and human as the doctor entered the room. “Oh well, too late now!”
Submarines and Space Organs
And so, a strange journey into the unknown began.
Nurses prepared my face with disinfectant and taped my left eye shut. A mask was placed over my face, and I could hear various metal tools being shuffled nearby. As a watery solution was poured over my blurry right eye, it felt as though I was peering out of a submarine’s top hatch. Faces transformed into shapes, and ripples of an ocean swirled around me as a light from above beamed down.
Injections from a blunt needle numbed my face. I stared up at two bright dots, following the doctor's instructions to look this way and that. Initially, the light was painful and hard to bear, but gradually it softened, shifting from a burning white to a cool grey as more fluid washed over my eye, cascading down my face. I felt as if I were descending into a dark ocean.
As the light dimmed further, I experienced a peculiar awareness of looking at the back of my eye with an almost inner eye, as if I were sitting in a dark room, watching an old TV screen. Then, I heard a strange electronic sound, akin to random notes played on a futuristic synthesizer, followed by a robotic voice announcing the word "Cortex." No explanation was given. How odd, I thought.
More random space jazz sounds filled the air, followed by another word: “Polish.” Meanwhile, the light had faded completely, and I imagined I was seeing magnetic fields emanating from a black doorway. It reminded me of the closing scenes from ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’. Very trippy, I mused.
I picked up snippets of conversation among the operating staff and became aware of my shallow breathing, forcing myself to remain as still as possible. How long had I been here? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? I was unsure. My greatest fear at that moment was an involuntary movement, triggered by a sudden cough or a cramp, so I cautiously swallowed to clear my throat.
This operation was supposed to last twenty minutes, but it felt much longer. Just then, I heard the surgeon say, “Okay, Mr. Crosbie, we are now going to place the new lens in.”
“Oh,” I thought, “I assumed you had already done that.” I guessed the difficulty of my particular deep-set cataract had extended the procedure. More time in darkness passed. The doctor asked, “Can you look up into the light for me?”
“Umm,” I replied, “I can’t see any light, and I’m not sure if my eye is open or closed.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Crosbie,” he reassured me. “That’s probably because the nerve is asleep.”
As I felt more pressure on my face, time seemed to stretch on. Gradually, the darkness began to lift. Grey static emerged from the black, and the light grew brighter.
Suddenly, the doctor announced, “All done.” I let out a relieved, “Thank you!”
Tis but a scratch
For the next 24 hours, I felt like a pirate sporting an eye patch or the hero from the movie 'Minority Report' trying not to let the spider robots look into my eyes!.
With my wife’s help, I navigated public transport to and from the hospital, spending the night sitting upright to alleviate pressure on my eye. All the while, it felt as though there was grit trapped beneath my eyelid.
The following day, I returned to the hospital to have the dressing removed. When I finally peered through my new lens, everything suddenly came into focus in what felt like an impossibly small consultation room. Colours were vivid, and objects appeared sharply defined, seemingly positioned directly in front of me.
However, I quickly realized my depth perception was profoundly off, and the flat floor appeared to bend and twist like something out of the movie ‘Inception’.
As I moved to the waiting area for my final check-up with the doctor, I experienced a kind of visual overload. I hadn’t realized how poor my eyesight had been; now, I could see every intricate detail of my surroundings. It felt like I had developed X-ray vision, as if I had gained a superpower.
The doctor reassured me that it would take some time for my brain to adjust to the changes in my vision and that things would soon settle into a semblance of normalcy.
The future looks Bright – Literally
As I write this a few days post-procedure, the initial “eyeball ache” has subsided, and the sensation of warping around my visual edges has noticeably diminished. I still have a few follow-up appointments on the horizon (not in a farm house), but I'm thrilled with how bright, shiny, and clear everything appears. The level of detail around me is astonishing; I can now see both close objects and distant landscapes with remarkable clarity.
Apparently, I have regained 20/20 vision, just as I did years ago. However, I’ve noticed a distinct colour difference between my two eyes and will probably still need reading glasses for close up work and looking at screens. My natural left eye lens, created in the 1970s by my parents, has a smoky yellow tinge, while my modern “bionic” right eye lens shines with a vibrant blue hue. This contrast is intriguing, and I hope to reconcile it, along with my depth perception, so that I don’t feel overwhelmed by every detail coming into sharp focus.
Reflecting on this, I realize that my love for detail—evident in my work—could be amplified by this new perspective. Perhaps this is an opportunity to embrace those details even more fully.
Indeed, The Future Looks Bright - Literally!
Now, what was that Space Organ all about I wonder?
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