Look At My Eyes In The Mirror To Understand The Immensity Of My Vision

You cannot know things by “entering them”, but only the way they appear to you as a perception of the difference between you and the environment in which you reflect your experiences.

I was surrounded by a terrible fog. A delusional blur passed through me with the power of a spirit that deprives you of God if you do not know how to invoke the energy of the Archangels, collect it within you and visualize it extending deep into the heart of the Universe. An invisible pendulum that appeared to me twice in the same dream, characterized by the passage of time through an incoherent delirium and disordered movements, told me much about what I had long forgotten and, promising infinity, left me the responsibility to decide where I want to be at the level of a simulation model of reality in a world of fantasy and imagination.

Losing myself among other shadows, heightened by other unreal sensations, without drawing attention to myself and without resorting to drastic measures to remain hidden in a vain illusion, it still seemed to me that I was watched by a stalker whose visibility remained out of sight. The feeling was that someone, well hidden in my life, had hung the invisible pendulum in many places where time had never worked, and that there, in the midst of a deep silence, in the whirlwind of an overcomplicated plot, the only thing that could capture attention was the attempt of the reversal of my mystical gaze from obscurity to the clearness beyond me.

Everything was happening in an undefined space, of the soul put to the test by an abstract will, by a presence located outside my understanding, which seemed to suggest that I withdraw into a loop of self-enclosures within myself, from the impossibility of the existence of a real infinity. It was the only thought I could allow myself, that I carried within me the “beginning and the end” of a moving circle where the ambitions of the recently exiled were balanced with the fatigue of the long exiled, like the character in a written novel by Louisa Lim.

Can you create an image that shows you in the background what you feel about yourself, through the very essence of reason to reflect a figurative space in a permanent game of duplication?

And it was not for nothing that every step I wanted to take forward became more and more difficult, because it evoked vague memories of a moment that could have been the past, but was the future. A thin curtain of mist that barely dispersed in the atmosphere clouded my understanding of God and blocked my walk with Him, while another curtain of wind pushed the light into symmetrical, dizzying ripples. So, I was in the middle, between two discreet curtains, in a time of unparalleled mysteries, and I was accompanied everywhere by an invisible pendulum that oscillated under the action of external forces.

I felt a kind of remorse towards myself, because I could have mirrored myself in someone else, and strengthened each other, however I accepted to remain alone, with my reflection.

Then I understood that the dream of which I am a part, the thin border between rupture and openness, is a Sivoyectha Unhedins, a symbolic recreation of reality, not a passive, photographic copy, but a total and mysterious adventure, a projection of unquenchable curiosities and desires unconfessed. In all this uncertain setting, where the dream competes with the real, I was just a fragment of a backlit mirror in which I refused to look, an intermediate form of limited and analogical universality. It is curious that in the blurred depth of this unreal, modified, restricted, bent frame, it was not the visible that was mirrored, but that part of my soul that yearns to be a free spirit.

Do you manage to convey an emotion through image, where the parallelism between experiencing an artistic vision and expanding a residual horizon beyond you makes sense?

After all, there is some good in all of this, right? Even if I cannot know for sure who I will be tomorrow, if I will only be the reflection of a mirror that gives a different picture of reality, or if I will only be the reproduction of a lively painting with a scene from 1001 nights, one thing it remains certain: I learned to live inside an enigma that covers with dense veils my memory of a time of the fabulous, explanatory in a permanent game of duplication. In the dream, every day is different, and every day I am born again, without recognizing my previous experiences.

So, I was caught in a dream full of mirrors placed asymmetrically among paintings with unknown drawings I won’t count them. Not. Not today. In any case, I memorized them all, then I closed my eyes and remained seated where the air became denser, grayer, foggier, as if every meter of this space was traversed by an invisible wave of melancholy, completely unpredictable, propagated like an endless echo in the nothingness of eternity. So, I didn’t lose my sense of finality, having the primordial correspondent in the spiritual world, but I just had the brilliant idea not to limit myself to the level of physical things, to the area of the immediate and the tangible.

Can you reverse on the actual path of analyzing objects, as they appear to the senses, the main criterion for approaching reality being from “part” to “whole”?

Imagination can go even further. If I became a dream, like a simultaneity of states under the same sky, either by an event extrinsic to the eye, or by a chromaticity pleasing to the eye, without garish colors, it is because I continued to be an image in a concave mirror that appears different from its real form, able to be immortalized only by an artist capable of measuring the present from an angle of vision that unfolds, back and forth, self-searches in the labyrinth of visual arts.

Suddenly the color manifested itself through its associative influence. There was light everywhere, an immense light seemed to radiate from everything on which my gaze slid. The mirror had become the frame of a moving picture, from which the figures and details are detached. And it had that mysterious quality of the mirror in Michel Foucault’s novel:

“The mirror shows nothing of what the painting itself represents. Her immovable gaze goes, beyond the painting, into this necessarily invisible region that her outer face forms, towards the characters seated here. Instead of turning to visible objects, this mirror traverses the entire field of representation, neglecting what it might capture there, and restores the visibility of what remains beyond all gaze. But this invisibility that she defeats is not one of the hidden: the mirror does not bypass any obstacle, does not change any perspective, but addresses the invisible result at the same time from the structure of the painting and from its existence as a painting. In the mirror is reflected what all the characters of the painting are about to fix, with their eyes fixed on the front; it is therefore what we could see if the canvas were extended in front, descending a little, so as to include the characters that serve as the painter’s model.”

The deep meaning of leadership can be captured in a single image: in which the Creator is also his own Creation. Thus, everything I included in a painting, real and unreal at the same time, is actually the reflection of the relationship between certain physical entities and a rather rebellious state of mind, which cannot be contained by physical restrictions.

Look At My Eyes In The Mirror, To Understand The Immensity Of My Vision. And thus, you will have a direct opening to the access path for the forces of creation that presuppose: the rearrangement of already existing things, but also a degree of solitude, withdrawal, isolation in a virtual reality.

To reverse the actual path of analyzing objects as they appear to the senses is to focus your attention on what is missing from the “picture” and to realize what is really important to add, in order for you to replace illusions with reality.
In painting, the extension of a residual horizon beyond you presupposes your belonging to a reality that has gone beyond the immediate perceptual, towards a level of consciousness that is influenced by duality: two-dimensional and three-dimensional.