I Belong To The Gaze That Loads My Eyes With Artistic Richness
A distance that magnifies the perspective causes everything around the view to merge into a grand event.
On that beautiful summer morning, in complete silence, I was walking on the beach in Mamaia. In the increasingly clear sky, toward the east, the pale shades of dawn that had pierced the darkness of the night were disappearing, leaving the abstract background to be distinguished, the bright crimson of an aurora of unprecedented brightness. The sun was rising more and more visibly on the horizon, and this was also happening in my heart, causing a feeling of well-being.
The horizon that the sea caressed with gentle whispers, inviting me to explore its deep and mysterious secrets, measured the movements of my eyes during a visionary episode of nature contemplation, when my mind traveled on the paths of creative thought. Somewhere out at sea, a cruise ship saw its way unhindered, the distance between us shrinking more and more. And, pleasantly surprised, I found that it was surrounded by a landscape taken from fairy tales, where the sea and the sky met in a perfect symphony.
In that unique moment, my eyes were testing my vision, hence the extraordinary role of the viewer to metamorphose into a creator, giving a special meaning to things through the power of his own perception and imagination. Of course, the eyes do not exercise their vision only by taking care of the constructive expression of the observed object, so as to create a spatial unity, but the fact that vision itself becomes an integral part of this art-directed construction, called perception. Or as the ancients would say, Urfechios Aositis Udarisvia, a distance that enlarges the perspective, causing everything surrounding the sight to merge into one grand event.
Through successive explorations of your own horizon, can you outline a memorable moment as an expression of the balance between what you perceive and what you feel?
The vision, well trained from the outside, imposes a new condition on intuition and artistic evidence: to leave intact the pleasure of encountering a memorable moment, as a correspondent of the relationship between what I perceive and what I feel. Having the ability not only to interpret the world, but also to imagine it differently, vision reaches, through successive accesses of the horizon, a kind of substitute for things that existed and were known, a principle of reference or tendency, in the order of knowledge of what no longer exists as such. And, coloring all things with subtle and effective "ephemeral" shades, in a confessional elan, sight becomes a kind of guarantor of the orientation towards art, towards painting.
Most likely, the view that stands out here can capture the essence of what defines me as an artist, being traversed by the ceaseless momentum of searches, just like in the novel "The Collector" by John Fowles:
" Everything was ready. All I had left was to sit in wait and he took advantage of the first opportunity that would arise. It is true that at that moment I was in a strange state. I was thinking about all the details as if I had been doing these things all my life. As if I were a secret agent, a detective, or an artist in search of perfect beauty. Until finally I waited , and I waited, for days, and this is how it happensand with butterflies. I mean you go to a place where you know you 're going to come across rare species and you don't know anything, but then again, when you 're not even looking for butterflies, you they appear in front of your eyes on a flower, offer them like a tray, as they say."
Have you ever considered how a visual landmark can mark the separation between reality and interpretation, thus creating a link between two distinct entities?
The appearance of any example of artistic perfection requires waiting time. And if I try to distinguish uniqueness from a vague image, like a thing in the distance, then my senses must be lost in the flow of a perspective-opening moment, coincidentia oppositorum, in order to capture and express a certain interpretation, thus becoming instruments of creation. Only in this way can I amplify my ability to interpret the world around me and transform it into a work of art, through a way of being in the place where, although I find nothing tangible, I feel that I am in the midst of a subtle presence, but full of meaning.
I know too well what each of the sea views represents to me: a butterfly that I have always wanted to catch. I lay in wait for a whole day, just to perceive what the eye likes more: the subtle details or the broad essence of the whole landscape. I knew that the sea also looked at me as a collector of unique images, like butterflies that live only one day, realities for which ideality exists, but I didn't want to let myself be engulfed by its spell except by accepting the reality of a scene taken from a John Fowles novel:
, I realize that it is not only a fantastic situation , it is a fantastic variant of a fantastic situation. I want to say that now I am in the hands of fate, and fate does not behave as if it is to be expected. And thus fate, through this man, brings me into the situation of being falsely grateful. I am so insecure and surely he knows it. He can make me totally dependent on him. It 's like I 'm living forever, forever, foreverit, in one fleeting moment.
What I write here is natural. It's like two people trying to carry on a conversation. It is the opposite of the drawing. When you draw a line, you know immediately that it is a good or bad line . But when you write a line, at first it seems trueand then, when you read it, you 'll know later..."
At what point in the evolutionary process do you manage to connect to the core of your beliefs, without allowing illusions to distort the clarity of a vision that remains true to your essence?
Art is like the sea, always changing, always fascinating, always engaging in conversation with me. It can make me totally dependent on it if I look at it as a demarcation line between two diametrically opposed worlds: the superior people and the masses, ignoring the spaces between one appearance and another. And if I continue to look for forms of expression at any point on the surface of the sea, to see butterflies in any small appearance from the sea, to behave like a collector of views that feeds the painting with all kinds of color typologies, from those based on oils to water-based ones, I would probably end up living an endless, endless, endless time in one fleeting moment.
A moment that at first seems real, but when I analyze it later, it seems illusory.
One of the constant concerns of a creator is to capture the essence of an experience or provoke deep reflection through his art. But without losing its originality and authenticity in the face of perceived illusions, be they caused by the vastness of the sea, the mystery of the horizon, or one's own interpretation of reality.
The more art is used as a demarcation barrier between the elites and the masses, the more the viewer becomes a slave to an illusion that turns the fleeting moment into an absolute falsehood.
I Belong To The Gaze That Fills My Eyes With Artistic Richness whenever my soul meets the sea, along with the sense of infinity that spills over the horizon. And if I looked at the sea countless times, with the same eyes with which it looks at me, then I would address the same words that the character in the novel "The Collector", written by John Fowles, uttered:
" I love honesty and freedom and generosity. I love the ability to do something, to create. I like to be fully involved. I love everything that is not static and I hate everyone those who are content to stand aside and do nothing, to plagiarize , those whose heart died before the body."
