The Eyes of Artists in the Brochure This is not normal. They are the lookers, drinking in the world. They trap it, haul it in, persuade it to undress on their canvas. Their eyes look out now from black and white squares, framed by flesh, intense. Human enough to know they are objects (that one knows she’s beautiful, while he’s dressed his eyes in an arty moustache), they’re uncomfortable, wary of exposure. Even photo-flattened their eyes can’t be stopped: assessing, comparing, judging, consuming. That one is laughing, just like a normal person, but his eyes, crinkled with greed, betray him.…