Will it ever be to the level of perfection that we want.
Does it even exist. Does it need to exist?
Do we need perfect? What is it we think we can't see?
What is perfect? Can the unfocused still be perfect?
Have we passed through the looking glass into unclear terrain moired with detailed doubt and blurred judgement and the developing sensory of sharper and better.
Are we out of focus. Focused on the wrong things.
It is only our own marker of clarity that allows us to determine either in or out of focus.
The Focus Opus.
A saga of glass, in its purest form, mere grains of smashed and smoothed and sifted sand and smoulder solemn flame, but when combined and blown out with care and polished passion, this simple crystal ignites the curios ape to capture every bit of thing large and small, from the universe and it's glittering suns littering the vastness of our nightly skies, to the same grains of sand, immensely over populated, ancestors of rock and water. From the tiniest imperfections of a smile, and the slightly out of focus photo of your grandmother.
Don't focus on the focus.
Thank the stars for the grains.