« …our map knows nothing of time… »

…You say that the life of a man cannot be pictured. But perhaps we mean different things.
The picture seeks to seize and immobilize within its own configurations what it never owned.

Our map knows nothing of time. It has no power to speak even of the hours implicit in its own existence. Not of those that have passed, not of those to come. Yet in its final shape the map
and the life it traces must converge for there time ends.
…
Cormac McCarthy in cities of the plain