It is often the case that what we see we leave untouched. And if we do—feel them—we, at the most, reckon they belong where they are. If we grab them, we understand them, usually, and tend to put them down not much due to inertia as to intuiting things are something more than just themselves, and the place where they are at comes with them. Carrying stuff around doesn’t become a burden because things could be heavy or bulky, but because those having that experience while carrying them have not become a place yet themselves. Be as it may, at times we run into things that lead us to take them as belonging to a place elsewhere. Shadows, illusions, extreme brightness. Sometimes too they seem out of place; the complexity we assume in things is straightly symbolic, they reach us already interpreted – and when this doesn’t happen, meaning we find them out of context, we don’t manage to grasp the thing even if it lays unfading before us and we are highly aware we are perceiving it. Sometimes, happily enough, we create them. The line is one of our creations; the result of the interaction of two things juxtaposed or overlapping, we abstract the visual trace of that contact and use it as a standalone element. A “medianil” is a line beyond a context. It’s the gutter in a book (that’s its meaning in Spanish, a medianil/gutter is the confluence of the two opposed pages of a book in a center line, the obverse of the seam keeping together the folds of pages). It seems as if a three-dimensional concept—a concept before having been thought of. It implies a direction of movement, it consists of a shadow showing that if it were to be followed, you’d go in it. It not only points towards itself loudly—being the one most stark contrast in an open book, it also is imperceptible, not thought of at all while hidden behind a historic habit. Now a medianil is not only an event in books or in bound material; we have now a concept we can bring anywhere and see/wait for it to mean. A Platonic trust on things whose reality hasn’t been exhausted yet. Without a meaning, like a number not being the things numbered. Medianil for us to wait.