“After C. S. Lewis lost his wife, Helen, to cancer, he realized he didn’t have a single good picture of her. Maybe that’s hard to grasp in our culture of profile pics from every angle, but he wasn’t upset about it. In fact, he saw the distinct advantage of lacking a quality image of his wife. He wrote:

‘I want H., not something that is like her. A really good photograph might become in the end a snare, a horror, and an obstacle.’

…in the absence of the real person, he saw his tendency to fill the image with his own fancy.

He was terrified at the prospect of shaping Helen into a phantom of his own making.”


(reminds me of https://josmurftay.wordpress.com/2015/02/07/10711/ !!)


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