As of late, I have an ever-easier time seeing, hearing, feeling many of my readers. While I am writing, I can see Bob Collén scratching his head; I can feel Giancarlo Politi remembering something he had long forgotten; I can hear Mary Barone guffawing; I can see Nick Serota rereading a sentence; I can feel Giles Prince worrying; I can see Sarah Kent scowling; I can hear Dan Crowe sniggering; I can see Waldemar Januszczak flinging my postcard into a far corner. But I have an ever-harder time seeing, hearing, feeling my own self.