My longstanding aesthetic and formal interest in expressed structure, layering and transparency are realized in my favorite eyeglasses. They are small, narrow pillowed rectangles of clear polycarbonate with bright stainless steel wire bridge and temples fastened by tiny polished bolts. These specs sit on my nose and over my ears like a cartoon shorthand for eyeglasses, a silver line drawing. The lenses mimic the orbit of my eyesockets and the expensive optical coating all but eliminates reflections. Rather than forming a mask like most eyewear, they almost disappear into my face. Though fully in concordance with my aesthetic predilictions, they are at odds with my myopic disability. I can't see them unless I've already got them on. I don't need them for reading or fine work, so I take them off all the time. If I don't remember where I set them down, I'm in trouble. They could be ANYWHERE. I search my surroundings like Helen Keller, running my hands along any flat surface large and strong enough to support an amost weightless object folded smaller than an Ace pocket comb, patting down the counters and tables, feeling the braille of the hexagonal porcelain tile floor around the toilet and magazine rack, pawing about helplessly, hoping to chance upon the prosthetic steel and plastic sylphs which would instantly spell out V-I-S-I-O-N - R-E-T-U-R-N-S -! when read by my eager, grasping finger tips.