Look At Me As The Eye Looks At Itself
What you really feel is what you see in yourself when you mentally approach an image that lingers in your mind.
The testimony of a life is found in a single image, with all the secrets revealed, with all the points revealed, as the power of the soul through which the smooth flow of the sensibility springing from every accord of the longing for freedom, of the pure dream is desired. You run away from Hell to reach Paradise, and the image acquires a special brightness, an unusual character, an artistic meaning through which, at the micro-space level, we are invited to understand it.
Her code name is Nina. Like any secret agent, she runs away one day, giving herself to the one who brutalizes her, and sends her on risky missions. The tragic experience of his life, the dream of a captive bird in a cage with thick bars, had to change into the flight of a hummingbird, which passes and leaves no traces, on the border between fog and light. To understand it to the extent that you deeply restore, with the same intensity of a fine wave of peace of mind, the experience accumulated throughout a life spent on the barricades of risky missions, replacing the old habits, thoughts, feelings, means giving up on yourself and becoming someone else.
Can you expand the horizon of creation through a total perception of imagined reality, where the unity between spirit and image nullifies any conflict between form and content?
Together with sight, the dominant sense through which everyone externalizes themselves, the anonymous viewer captures a sublime face resembling the brightest and warmest ray of the sun, as if the owner of the face were among those who possess the “invisible key” with which one enters the eternal paradise of symbolism. This time, the entire consciousness tries to grasp the total reality of an image of gentleness which, beyond a chiaroscuro background, marked only in places by small light strips, develops parallel and respects a mysterious correspondence with the mastery of an artist who seems to breathe poetry.
You see her in the photo as she sees herself, natural, without beauty filters, without harsh lines, in a reality of reflections in the mental mirror, with a gentle gaze, a gentle smile, aiming to touch a light morning breeze easily passing over the soul. And you still wonder what the eyes are saying. Something from off, like an echo from time immemorial, whispers to me: look at me deeply, with your soul, and tell me what my eye lacks to perfect its vision?
The way you see yourself depends on what you feel at the moment when you manage to reach that deep space within you that recommends you as the creator of a vision “relived through recollection”?
Look at her as she looks at herself. And tell me, if you can, why her searching gaze, replacing a thousand words, struggles for a moment between me and the picture that the painter finishes with the last stroke of the brush, then slips, slides through me, is in a brief dialogue with my soul, and finally its image takes shape as a finished painting? Why?
From here is born a mystery, a symbolic evidence, a cosmic projection of the self born from a simple fantasy, something that for me is really frustrating. Because the eyes that see the image of a being in all its depth, surrounded by an almost mystical silence, are the same silent, reserved eyes, guided by the sense of seeing in the dark, a fact that allows me to experience on a much larger scale the inner universe that enlightened beings hope for it in secret, generally unshared.
Can you shape your inner experience so that the vast backdrop of your reality resonates perfectly with the mastery of a visionary spirit?
My vision bears the name of a little known figure, but whose artistic creation has in promoting my identity. Of course, the one who knows how to appreciate the vastness as well as the complexity of a masterpiece, being inspired by a feeling that struggles for a moment between himself and the painting, is by no means a stranger to the contents of Leonardo Da Vinci’s “Treatise on Painting”, where we find the following mention:
“Those painters who often paint a relief model, in a special light from their home, and then place it in the great light outside, where the air encompasses and illuminates all parts in the same way, make a big mistake. From here it happens to them to cast strong shadows where such shadows cannot be found, and even if there were, the daylight is so strong that they can hardly be seen. And so it was with the reflections that you cannot see.”
The testimony of a turbulent life is concentrated into a single image, which ensures maximum visual acuity within a spiritual renewal, attainable only insofar as it expresses the immortal essence of a person.
Curious how strange, sensitive and fascinating is the touch of a thought of memory, coming from beyond the desert, when you absolutely want to penetrate a woman’s heart. The face speaks, says a lot. It is not silent, but looks at you sincerely, without falsehood, being as bright as the sun among the palm leaves on a golden beach. It is foggy, in the evening, but his face is lit by the halo of a star, grows when viewed through the prism of a tear, and revives the magic of an immortal story.
The eyes look at you, with longing, with sighs. They seem like the touch of an angel that soothes your heart, makes you listen to his whispers, like the sun that climbs the dawn, as if it were nothing but the mirage of a moment fallen out of time, like a ripe fruit, detached from its branch by its own weight. The same calm eyes, full of the mystery of a Somines dres Scarthes, the vibration of an ephemeral emotion, capture the dreaming being in all the complexity and dynamics of opposites, resorting to a process of substitution, reproducing the image that poetically evokes the impressions produced by the appearance of a distinct aesthetic, vision, as a rethinking of a reality hidden in a beyond the name, in a beyond the word.
Nina. Now you are finally free, alone with yourself, with the dream come true. It was your heart’s struggle to find its echo in the incomprehensible creation of life. And if ever someone were to see you by chance, as you see a bird in the wild, and if they recognized you by the serenity of the look, but especially by the patience with which the look itself tells about you, they will feel that fine comfort left by the touch of velvet, a soft hug, the warmth of the sun at the beach.
You will remain forever in the memory of those who will discover your face in a painting conceived with soul…
Under the sign of leadership lies the recognition of a turbulent life, whose mystery is revealed only by gazing at a person's face in the image that impressed you the most.
Look At Me As The Eye Looks At Itself and maybe, one day, you will understand why my deep gaze meets only the eyes that know how to see that distant light, from beyond the darkness. You can stir up this light in your soul that you have in front of you, it will never go out as long as you remember me, my traveling face that drives away the wandering and chaos into the wind, and changes them into sun rays.
Maybe that’s how things are. The artist’s eye is seen as the ultimate goal of creation; one would expect that at the moment of its extinction it would not be the end of the world…
