I was sitting in the waiting room at an ophtalmologist's when a very shy and gentle looking lady entered. She seemed lost and asked me whether she should go and knock at the doctor's door or wait. I told her the custom was for the patient to wait for the doctor to come and fetch him or her, and we sat on in silence, I, rather impressed by her extraordinary timidity and gentleness. Then ,all of a sudden she asked me:' the observer is the observed, isn't it?' I was baffled that she would address such a question to a complete stranger, at such a time and in such a place. But she was so gentle and sincere that I heard me say, possibly out of compassion: 'Yes, the observer is the observed'. She looked relieved: 'You see, I feel so awkward, even with the simplest things'. I then must have said something like 'never mind that ' but I was curious to know why she had asked such a question and had trusted me with the answer? And after a few more exchanges I understood that she loved to paint gardens and that when she painted flowers and trees she felt she was what she painted and then felt unsure of being quite normal and how disquieting this could be.