For a long time, reality was understood as something already complete. It existed independently of observation, unchanged by attention. Art was placed into the same framework: a finished object, carrying a stable meaning that could be interpreted. This view began to shift with modern physics. In quantum theory, a particle does not possess a definite state prior to observation. It exists as a range of possibilities, and only interaction produces a concrete outcome. This insight does not remain a scientific detail; it changes how reality itself is understood.

The philosophy of touch approaches art from a similar position. A work of art does not produce meaning on its own, and its effect is never guaranteed. What happens depends on the presence that meets it. Without attention, the work remains unresolved. It is not absent, but inactive as an event. In physics, this moment of actualization is described as collapse. In art, it can be understood as Tactus: the moment when attention and work enter into relation. Reality, in both cases, is not something given in advance. It happens.

A quantum system contains multiple potential states at once. An artwork functions in the same way. Before it is encountered, it holds more than one possible resonance. These are not messages hidden inside the object, but potentials that require presence to appear. Different viewers, different moments, and different qualities of attention allow different outcomes to emerge. Observation is not neutral. In physics, measurement alters the system. In art, attention shapes what becomes visible. The viewer does not simply receive a finished content. By attending, they participate in the formation of the event. The work becomes actual only within this relation. This does not mean that anything can happen arbitrarily; it means that the work remains open until it is met.

An artwork should therefore not be understood as a closed unit. It operates as a field of potential interaction. When attention is present, something may emerge: a shift, a resonance, a response. When attention is absent, the work remains unchanged, yet incomplete as an event. The viewer, in this sense, is not an interpreter searching for meaning, but a participant in a situation. What matters is not interpretation, but availability. Sometimes this encounter takes place. Sometimes it does not. The philosophy of touch names these states Tactus and Retractus—the emergence of relation and its suspension. Both belong to how the work exists.

Touch marks a transition. A potential becomes actual. In physics, this transition cannot be reversed. In art, the same holds true. When a work truly touches someone, something has shifted, even if the shift is subtle and quiet. This does not require intensity or emotion. It may pass almost unnoticed, yet it changes the state of what was encountered. And when touch does not occur, nothing is lost. The work remains available. Silence does not cancel possibility; it preserves it.

Reality does not appear independently of how it is approached. Attention plays an active role. To attend is not to judge or analyze, but to allow something to appear. In this sense, attention is creative. It does not add content, but enables occurrence. What we call reality emerges through this process.

The artwork exists as condensed potential. It does not demand response. It waits. When someone meets it with attention, a specific reality comes into being—one that exists only in that moment and cannot be repeated in the same way. Reality begins where presence enters. This moment of encounter is touch. And perhaps this is what we call reality.

For a long time, reality was understood as something already complete. It existed independently of observation, unchanged by attention. Art was placed into the same framework: a finished object, carrying a stable meaning that could be interpreted. This view began to shift with modern physics. In quantum theory, a particle does not possess a definite state prior to observation. It exists as a range of possibilities, and only interaction produces a concrete outcome. This insight does not remain a scientific detail; it changes how reality itself is understood.

The philosophy of touch approaches art from a similar position. A work of art does not produce meaning on its own, and its effect is never guaranteed. What happens depends on the presence that meets it. Without attention, the work remains unresolved. It is not absent, but inactive as an event. In physics, this moment of actualization is described as collapse. In art, it can be understood as Tactus: the moment when attention and work enter into relation. Reality, in both cases, is not something given in advance. It happens.

A quantum system contains multiple potential states at once. An artwork functions in the same way. Before it is encountered, it holds more than one possible resonance. These are not messages hidden inside the object, but potentials that require presence to appear. Different viewers, different moments, and different qualities of attention allow different outcomes to emerge. Observation is not neutral. In physics, measurement alters the system. In art, attention shapes what becomes visible. The viewer does not simply receive a finished content. By attending, they participate in the formation of the event. The work becomes actual only within this relation. This does not mean that anything can happen arbitrarily; it means that the work remains open until it is met.

An artwork should therefore not be understood as a closed unit. It operates as a field of potential interaction. When attention is present, something may emerge: a shift, a resonance, a response. When attention is absent, the work remains unchanged, yet incomplete as an event. The viewer, in this sense, is not an interpreter searching for meaning, but a participant in a situation. What matters is not interpretation, but availability. Sometimes this encounter takes place. Sometimes it does not. The philosophy of touch names these states Tactus and Retractus—the emergence of relation and its suspension. Both belong to how the work exists.

Touch marks a transition. A potential becomes actual. In physics, this transition cannot be reversed. In art, the same holds true. When a work truly touches someone, something has shifted, even if the shift is subtle and quiet. This does not require intensity or emotion. It may pass almost unnoticed, yet it changes the state of what was encountered. And when touch does not occur, nothing is lost. The work remains available. Silence does not cancel possibility; it preserves it.

Reality does not appear independently of how it is approached. Attention plays an active role. To attend is not to judge or analyze, but to allow something to appear. In this sense, attention is creative. It does not add content, but enables occurrence. What we call reality emerges through this process.

The artwork exists as condensed potential. It does not demand response. It waits. When someone meets it with attention, a specific reality comes into being—one that exists only in that moment and cannot be repeated in the same way. Reality begins where presence enters. This moment of encounter is touch. And perhaps this is what we call reality.