I Only Count The Sunny Hours

The way in which science takes on the world and its things imposes new landmarks, a new language and other representations.

I am particularly interested in finding the way to penetrate a superhuman state of perfection and drunkenness, as a succession of moments of intellectual effervescence, spontaneous overflow of the life of a different Person within me, so that I can begin building a new empire of reality and become a symbol of the greatness of embracing the world’s transcendence.

The triumph of this intention is the conquest of the means of language that make up the outer appearance of an artwork: color, line, volume, but also the inner aspect of the New Man with which I come into contact, relevant by the sensibility of receiving the world into the details of an era that had both lights and shadows. Here floats not the ephemeral shadow of things manifested in terms of value or price, but the visual density of the information I provide through a juxtaposition of the colors defining of a great master of the palette.

Obviously, the means of achieving something as spectacular as transforming man into a much more sophisticated double of himself with the representational means of words, without going into conflict with the laws of nature as soon as I get the chance of an escape from the conventional borders of the natural, is the clarify of the conviction that there are no innate ideas, only invented ones. In this case, I appeal to the action of color over the artistic intentions of representing an association between visual contrast and the image expressed lexically.

Therefore, the operation must be exercised not so much on external sensitive objects, but rather on the operations of the mind, perceived and reflected by an imaginary line separating the past from the future, the upper world from the lower world, a simple outline of the content of the inspiration that ensures the chaining of creative notions in a logical and readily accessible form to readers.

The predominant color of the painting I am describing is the dominant argument in a text of whose translation is the following: “I only count the sunny hours.”

Can you develop a new vision of the notion of “author” and “masterpiece” around a “You never get tired of reading it” experience from the perspective of reporting a storytelling that once started cannot be finished?

To raise the word to a level of expression, and expression to the rank of virtue is the testimony of a vision that takes place in full connection with the world – from the point of view of the content of an art full of deeds. But in terms of meaningful content, the visibility of a different person is greatly emphasized, who strongly accentuates their presence in a storytelling takes you on a mysterious journey. You never get tired of reading it !

My mere presence in a framework of aesthetic thinking with the purpose of defining a new feature of the progress of creation, especially the leaping course towards defining an identity of the Perfect Man, even if it seems to be an utopia of absolute reason, denotes the characteristics of my style of constructing a successful story. A story whose striking quality is not exactly in the life of a life lived for beautiful things, but in the necessity of focusing on the mystery of a creature of another time, which blends lucidly into the rules of an absurd game of lights and shadows.

The proof of an artistic intelligence and authenticity of the writer’s fiber is given by the content of meaning on which the relationship between the visual and textual is based, integrated into an impactful story.

In a sense, this is also a way of addressing the highest science: how far am I willing to meet myself so that reality will gain the immanence of absolute materiality evoking the compact corporeality of the text and the sign, subjected to the need to be truthful, to support a reference to the truth of the real world?

Maybe perfection is to experience alterity, to treat myself as a living being in a virtually inaccessible place, or in an infinite universe, in a secret space of unforgettable experiences full of the adventure of a total science. So, I feel a duty to my other half in another space-time. I feel that I have to listen to it and at the same time give it the opportunity to make its beliefs, fears, anxieties, my dreams about the miraculous universe of art known.

The author is the symbol of “the hand that writes everything” through a person interposed between the subject and the object, by a relative and subtle agreement to everything else that is different. He associates language games with acting games in which dominates the feeling of dependence man to another man, that creation truly needs.

The masterpiece of an artist is what is distinguished beyond the visual force, it is the continuous process of symbolization that requires the experience of showing an inner world, a spectacular micro world, from a revealing angle.

Can you easily read your thoughts like a picture in a mirror, according to the skill to capture what seems incomprehensible in a space where everything is interpreted as an endless creation?

In Umberto Eco’s novel, “The Name of the Rose”, there is a fragment that reminds me of the way I was struggling to understand a certain direction imprinted on the science I was serving and cultivating in my writings:

“I headed straight for the labyrinth. I was entering it alone for first time, the long shadows cast by the lantern on the floor terrified me like the previous night’s glimpses. I was afraid at any moment to not find myself in front of a mirror, because of such nature is the magic of the mirrors that even if you know they are mirrors they do not stop worrying you.”

Always when you approach an answer to your dilemmas, there is another common denominator, another face of reality, another way and a new beginning. Science is measured in the ability of intuition to capture what originally seems incomprehensible. On the scale of pride of being different, belonging to a privileged elite in front of which every reason gains a dominant position, through a subtle mirror of reality in consciousness, this is a kind of parallelism to my original way of being, with that important part of me I was telling you about earlier.

Even now there is a conflict between me and leadership, between the requirements of the Ego that wants to say everything and the protective requirements of the higher science that only wants itself picked up and understood by the reflexive spirits, by these dominant straights particularly positioned to the coordinate axes of the total force exerted on the formation of a new form of thinking.

How will I let others know all my secrets without making haste in meeting that basic need of leadership, which more than anything demands patience, perseverance, caution, and discretion?

An endless creation has as a main feature the ability to see things from the perspective of a science that deals with a topic of great interest as a whole, but also, in its diversity, to change the reality you know and in which you live.

I Only Count The Sunny Hours is the outline of the content of a painting rendered by the delicate interpretation of an inner reality, by the accuracy of artistic evocation and the power of imagination. But especially through the chromatic power of the contrasts between two different beings: one that portrays its purpose in the design of the literary approach, the other that tends towards the beauty of a world laid out on the canvas.