Oftentimes, when we think of 3D, we think of things coming out of

Hear the words of Keanu Reeves, an actor who has walked the path of cinema with humility and vision: “Oftentimes, when we think of 3D, we think of things coming out of the screen, but actually, you’ve got this zero, this negative space, what they call the negative space, which is the scene, what’s being filmed in the positive space of the audience. As you can have things come out, you can have all of this depth.” Though he speaks of film and 3D, his words carry wisdom that reaches far beyond the screen. For he reminds us that life itself is not only about what bursts forth in brilliance, but about the unseen negative space, the quiet depth that shapes and gives meaning to all that appears.

The origin of this saying is rooted in Reeves’ reflections on acting and technology, particularly the craft of cinema in three dimensions. Most audiences, dazzled by spectacle, think of 3D as objects leaping forward into their vision. But Reeves, with the mind of an artist, turns attention to the unseen dimension—the depth that stretches backward, the space behind the obvious image. It is in this interplay of what is before and behind, of positive and negative, that true immersion is born. In speaking of film, Reeves unveils a philosophy of perception: that we are too quick to chase what dazzles, and too slow to honor the unseen that makes the dazzling possible.

This truth is not new. The ancients knew that the negative space was as holy as the form itself. The Greek sculptors carved not only the body of the statue, but the empty air around it, for they knew that the void gave shape to the figure. In Japanese art, too, the concept of ma—the space between—was revered, for in the silence between notes, in the emptiness between strokes of ink, the spirit of beauty dwelled. Reeves, knowingly or not, speaks in their tradition, reminding us that depth is not found in surfaces alone, but in the hidden spaces that surround them.

History itself teaches this lesson. Consider the cathedrals of Europe, soaring toward the heavens. The stonework is marvelous, yes, but what gives them majesty is not the carvings nor the stained glass alone—it is the vast, echoing space within. The negative space lifts the soul upward, stirring awe in the silence between walls. If we saw only the positive—stone and glass—we would miss the true power. Reeves’ words reflect this same truth: that depth arises not from what thrusts forward, but from what stretches silently back.

The emotional power of this quote lies in its challenge to how we see. Most people fix their eyes only on the positive space—what is shown, what is loud, what is obvious. But Reeves points us to the subtler, quieter, more enduring layer: the depth of experience, the richness behind the image. In life as in art, those who look only at surfaces will be entertained but never transformed. Those who see the space beyond, the silence beneath, the depth behind appearances—these will find wisdom.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: seek the depth in all things. In conversation, do not only hear the words, but also the silence between them. In art, do not only see the form, but also the emptiness that frames it. In life, do not only chase what leaps out—pleasure, wealth, praise—but also honor the unseen spaces: patience, reflection, and meaning. For it is in this negative space that true perspective is born.

And what actions must we take? Learn to pause, to look behind, to enter into the unseen dimension of every experience. When you watch a film, notice not only the spectacle that leaps forward, but the atmosphere that pulls you inward. When you live each day, notice not only what bursts into your attention, but the quiet that surrounds it. Practice stillness, practice attention, practice reverence for the invisible. Then, like Reeves, you will begin to see not only what comes out of life’s screen, but also the depth that lies within it.