A stain is the evidence of something that was. It's a trace. A stain may
be something quite ordinary: the ink stain on my index finger; the mark
of your fingers on this book. A stain may also be embarrassing: lipstick
on a cheek; sweat rings under the arms; a bloody discharge. A stain may
be forensically incriminating. A stain may be kept for sentimental
reasons. Moreover, every stain has its own particular texture. Texture
denotes the consistency of a surface and the sensory, often tactile
imprint that is left on it. The stain may be absorbed in the
thing that supports it; then again, it may stay on the surface,
something separate. Every stain is unique. In this essay the author
deals with seven factors that make the stain into a powerful model for
rethinking the visual: the stain as prototype and prefiguration, the
stain as relic, the stain of Veronica, the stain as a psycho-energetic
symptom, the stain as pars pro toto for the womb, the stain and
le desir mimetique and finally the stain as an image paradigm of
the residue.