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Verbal description is both a skill and an art. These techniques and tools clearly communicate the visual world through non-visual language. Thus, connections are possible. As an art form, there’s more than one “right” way to do it. I am grateful that this service exists in cultural, educational, and employment settings. I am equally grateful for the time, care, and connection offered through verbal description from others in my personal life.
At first I thought that asking others to describe things I cannot see was unfair or burdensome. This perspective was challenged by a handful of those precious and everyday companions who willingly put words to the environment. They told me providing verbal description benefited them as well. This I choose to believe.
The verbal descriptions on my website reflect everyday vernacular, outside of the official rules for grammar and punctuation. As the viewer, imagine that someone is standing next to you and having a conversation about what is visually present. That person does not have specific training or manuals to guide this conversation with you. Such resources exist and are valuable. My preference for verbal description evolved over time. Now, I truly appreciate hearing another perspective and understand that it is one of many. With this understanding, I can relax into appreciating the details being shared.
At the heart of any communication is our inherent need to connect—with ourselves, with others, and with the world. “Seeing” is often interchangeable with “understanding” in common parlance. This correlation invites us to consider the ways in which perceived understanding inspires a feeling of connectedness. This connectedness often happens without words.Instead, it occurs through the infinite ways in which our visual world offers itself to our imagination. For people with blindness or low vision, words become a method for “seeing”. Putting words to visuals also invites new ways of “seeing” and “understanding” for all.
Friends told me that the opportunity to do verbal description required that they slow down and orient themselves to the world in a new and meaningful way. As such, I was nudged outside my assumptions. They experienced a blessing rather than a burden. Something shifted inside me with that “ah-ha”.
Like other forms of connection, words have the power to unite through an invisible touch that exists in the presence of any exchange. The giver and receiver both play a part in the whole. The parts are inevitably different. Yet both are necessary and consequently can be blended and blurred in their labels. Who is giving? Who is receiving? Perhaps the answer is both and all.