The building across the street has seven windows on its upper floor.
I have passed it almost every day for a year. Until this morning, I could not have said how many windows there were, or that one of them had a blue curtain. Familiarity had turned the building into a convenient outline.
Looking closely is a modest way of interrupting that process. We give a thing enough time to become particular again. The outline fills with marks, repairs, and decisions made by people we will never meet.
Drawing helps, even when the drawing is poor. So does describing a place to someone who has never seen it.
The street grows larger without adding anything new.