At every moment of mental activity, a double phenomenon of perception occurs within us: while we are conscious of a state of mind, we are simultaneously confronted with a landscape of sorts, impressing upon our outward-facing senses. For convenience of phrasing, we may understand "landscape" to mean everything that constitutes the external world at a given moment of our perception.

Every state of mind is a passage. That is, every state of mind can not only be represented by a landscape but truly is a landscape. Within us, there is an inner space where the material of our physical life stirs. Thus, a sadness is like a dead lake within us, while a joy is like a sunny day in our spirit. Even if one does not wish to admit that every state of mind is a landscape, one can at least acknowledge that every state of mind can be represented by a landscape. If I say "There is sunshine in my thoughts," no one will think my thoughts are sad.

Thus, being simultaneously conscious of both the external world and our inner spirit, and since our spirit is a landscape, we are aware of two landscapes at once. These landscapes merge and interpenetrate, such that our state of mind, whatever it may be, is influenced by the landscape we are seeing — on a sunny day, a sad soul cannot be as sad as on a rainy day — and, conversely, the external landscape is influenced by our state of mind. It has always been said, especially in verse, things like "in the absence of the beloved, the sun does not shine," and other such expressions.

Therefore, art that seeks to faithfully represent reality must do so by presenting a simultaneous depiction of the inner landscape and the outer landscape. As a result, it must attempt to offer an intersection of two landscapes. It must be two landscapes, but even if one does not wish to admit that a state of mind is a landscape, one might simply wish to intersect a state of mind (pure and simple feeling) with the external landscape.