An Illusion That The Easel Of Time Paints With Rare Mastery

Review your vision of the image you are contemplating, looking at yourself as if you were looking at a reflection of nature in yourself.

I walk on the sea shore, among the gusts of wind that make the waves change into the colors of a painting as if from a work of fiction. A man wants to cross immortality, and to do that he must give himself to the moment when the waves, as they pour in, can envelop him in a powerful energy, turning him into the muse of painters who will look at the splendor of the sea.

Yes, the sea calls me, the waves call me, the sunrise envelops me, and not anyway, but just as the artist's brush is driven by the faith of an eternal work, Esthelpih Sreycuss, painting the picture of a seductive and fascinating world.

The sea completes the image of my artist nature, mixing times, emotions and aspects of external nature in a kind of ideational crucible, a container capable of withstanding very high temperatures, in which I boil the burning passions of a hallucinatory wandering in a parallel universe, symbolic, occult, plurivalent. In addition, what my rich imagination can perceive clearly and perceptibly, seeing this space of the absolute hard to locate on the axis of time, letting myself be carried away by the illusion of an increasingly intense experience, is the complete image of a thoughtful nature of the artist, of to this crazy, impetuous, independent and refined nature at the same time, which is entrusted with so many divine powers and privileges, so many possibilities to manifest in the high world of the Peerless Creators.

One will hardly be able to assert that all that can be called beautiful in art, and having great aesthetic force, is to be found in the mechanism of sight. For in order to delight and charm a soul receptive to beauty, possibly gazing at the sea glistening in the sunlight, man needs the regular emotions behind the gaze.

Do you direct your attention to the process of exploring a world that transcends the limits of the immediate, opening up to an endless universe of possibilities and artistic expressions?

Everything is bathed in the beauty of a reality that delights the painting of pure eyes. Illustrative in this sense is what I feel when I walk on the seashore, the emotion of peace and existential stillness, like an uninterrupted flow of the sound produced by the waves, in the beating of the sun. To the extent that the sound of the waves represents the whole giver of emotions, subordinated to the aesthetic dimension, so without in any way separating the sight from the hearing, my art can be conceived in the ultimate simplicity, especially when in this simplicity several different sounds resound simultaneously, but which are so well united that sometimes I think I hear only one.

Here there is something to hold not only in the field of sight, but as part of the field of hearing focused on regularity, capturing the same interval of moments of silence in the same beauty that resides in the innocence and pleasure of looking. So, feeling irresistibly tempted to take note of the image which causes the eye to retain an auditory recollection, almost as long as a thousand clear days last, and even after it is gone, I may cause art to be called "the property of sound isolated from to be deep".

Obviously, in order to better understand the sea, I must not only look at it in comparison to myself, how big it is and how small I am, but I must imagine the elements of the rhythm of the waves as being indifferent in themselves, such as the sounds separate parts of a string, or the beat of a drum. And how can a succession of such beatings become significant in the midst of tides and marine currents?

Do you contemplate your spiritual essence in every corner of your self-image, making the connection between a world that flourishes in imagination and a world that comes to life in reality?

However tumultuous, or unexpected, the waves have no effect on me unless they establish an artistic-mystical effect on me. It is like a vision of Borges who organizes his story as a pendulum that oscillates between reality and dream, until the dream becomes reality, that is, two superimposed versions of the same fact. As he mentioned at the end of the Zahirul story, according to the idealist doctrine, the verbs "to live" and "to dream" are perfectly synonymous.

Here is Borges's idea, as it emerges from "Circular Ruins":

"In the book that is the universe, God has written our fate. This text, however, cannot be read by us. Like the dreamer, Divinity is a projection of the inexorable will that created or wrote the world. The magician who dreams a man realizes that he too is, in turn, the dream of someone else whose life project was foreseen in the divine project. The dreamer's efforts to understand the divine will are from the very beginning doomed to failure. Moreover, even these futile efforts were foreseen in the dream of Someone who dreamed them or in the book of a divinity who wrote them."

As soon as the broadest gaze merges with the apparently insignificant sounds of the sea current, or of the waves, according to their nature and content, as some admirable secrets of nature, then the art of the beautiful (in its absoluteness) becomes a pure characteristic of the activity to see all diversity in unity. The artist sees not only the borders of the world, but opens his wings to the endless horizon of his own vision, in which he discovers the inexhaustible source of the dream from which the magician creates amazing illusions.

The starting point in the construction of art is the validation of the reality that your image outlines in a dream. A dream that God nourishes with meaning.

An Illusion That The Easel Of Time Paints With Rare Mastery is the image with which the artist contemplates his own immortality, in a spectacle of forms and colors that transcend the ephemeral limits of existence.

To dream is to watch the waves of the sea while God paints your life in the colors of His soul, with the same devotion with which the painter creates his masterpieces, thus becoming a part of the divine picture. After all, the sea was foreseen in my dream, in which I dreamed that the soul of an artist changed into a magician. And if you noticed well, my vision was, in fact, the projection of a reality, blessed by the hand of God, which suddenly became a dream, in an illusion that the easel of time paints with such skill.

And, to conclude, I will quote a passage belonging to the poet Jean Guichard Meili:

"The only thing we can be sure of is that the future belongs to artists, at least as long as they are not overwhelmed by external constraints. Because we now know that the most contrary forms do not destroy, but add, after all, that they do not there is never a fundamental disagreement between the most settled past and the most uncertain present, that there is nothing left to do but to give the artist the confidence he demands in return for the evidence of affection he gives in his every work.

As long as there will be people, who will prove feeling, there will be among them some who will not be able to resist such an affection. Nothing can be more beautiful than extreme will, extreme sensitivity and science..."