Neculai Fantanaru

Everything Depends On The Leader


On January 02, 2020
, in
Leadership Z3-Extended by Neculai Fantanaru

Be the extension of an image that never loses its significance and quality, in the process of revealing the intimacy of the artistic act seen as a guarantor of recovering the past in the strict interest of understanding the present.

My story is the testimony of a melancholy act of relating to the work of art and its profound meanings. It is the place of refuge in the face of times when my life, so special, so sincere, seemed to belong to only one mortal. It is a remembrance of times founded in the vicinity of the word Dermethisyum (with criteria of purity), times hard to forget, with delicate inclinations to dream, crossed with nostalgia for deep and restrained feelings, like mere birds in their routine flight. From here, too, the temptation to change myself into a form of existence after death, in the silence of a discreet confession, on the rhythm of a music with calming effect.

The infinite desire to love life, with all its other spheres: epistemic truth, aesthetic truth and religious truth, is gathered around the need to belong to an image full of intensity, full of art, color, history and beauty, changing my meaning (to witness a world exhausted by so much turmoil) with the work of a brilliant artist who gives new valences of transfigured mirroring of nature in his own recovery.

I’m not doing anything by chance. I feel nothing without leaving a maximum freedom of speech with myself in the position of an artist, so that I can change at any time into “another” of the world of eternity and oblivion. The withered leaves collect at my feet, and the wind begins to moan.

The first lesson in the skill of art is the description of an image. Look at me as you look at a rose that has lived countless lives, over and over again, without losing sight of it. And this Double Delight, the model of unmatched and unparalleled beauty, imagine that it had the privilege of witnessing a profound act of service in the life of an alchemist, in the workshop of a famous painter, in the play of a theater actor, or in the longevity of the music of a sensual and romantic opera singer.

Great will be their reward in heaven, eternal will be their glory, because they have been part of every moment of my story.

A sense of identity and continuity can be understood in terms of “pure consciousness that concerns the old self” from the perspective of a reality whose only meaning is an image consisting of two vectors: the science of being someone else and the power of remaining the same.

And yet, there must be someone who can decipher me with all my mysteries, who can outline me alive and full of greatness, charming as a dream of youth among the passing years, beyond the complicated mechanics of the act of creation. The rose feels, lives, gets emotional, understands itself in the words of Cella Serghi: “The body and the heart gain unfortunate habits. The heart, neglecting the echo of its passions in real life, takes refuge in fiction, and the body becomes accustomed to separating desire from admiration.”

Has the moon lost her memory? She is smiling alone, in the lamplight. If you have to force yourself to admire, to pay attention to the beautiful, feeling and sensitivity, to open the double key of eternal time, then load your spiritual energy with the red-yellow hue of an autumn evening spent around a fire, at dusk. It is an image immortalized by the painter on the face of a higher reality, transfigured, transmuted into eternal human values. This is what art means: transformation by feeling the influence of an omnipresence.

And the supreme force of art created by a flash of poetic intuition, subsequently brought to the supreme meaning Seroderifesh (the incarnation of the pure word from the beautiful space), lies in your power to introduce me into a framework of aspiration to the sublime, to an authentic and honest art, in the form of a description of a figurative presence interwoven with indelible memories. Then, identify yourselves with me. Let the memory live again…

This is how the humanization of art begins, its revolution. In conditions of irradiation of eternity in a vivid moment, full of color and meaning. How will it end? Through the hidden, through the symbol…

Leadership: Have you found a place of refuge in times when lives no longer belong to mortals, but to creators who display their refinement and solemnity by triggering an artistic experience seen from the perspective of the absolute?

I always held a magical key in my hand. Near the crystalline spring of the great inclinations towards the beautiful, a wonderful place captured in the landscape created by Sepher Yetzirah, where we experienced the first years of immortality on a single and insignificant palm of the earth, I discovered for the first time freedom, art, love, regret and compassion, worry and weakness. I wish that your fate was the one deserved by me, so that I could include you in this landscape of history, nostalgia and simplicity. But only you have this power, to be like me.

Then, by a glimmer of divine power, I twisted the key twice, the source of all symbolic images and correspondence, only to suggest my absence, forgetfulness, and inspire people with the natural need for affection, kindness, leaving them the possibility to reflect (in awe) how it would be to live without me, how difficult life would be without art, without beauty, without the perspective of the absolute. It is so easy to leave me, all alone with the memory of my days in the sun…

Cella Serghi was perhaps the only writer who deciphered the mysteries of the flower to which I still harbor her soul: “I think the secret of your sadness (because you are sad) is that life has divided you, love has not wanted you complete, it asked of you more than you wanted to give to only one”.

An artistic experience seen from the perspective of the absolute is the masterpiece of the art of bringing to life spaces forgotten by the world, places with a strong history, witnesses of times past, in the composition of an image that never loses its quality and significance.

I must think of a new life, and I mustn’t in. Believe me, I no longer want to delude myself, I no longer want to be just an attempt to manifest art, as fragile as any multiplication of radiating a light ray into a living, universal consciousness. Following me will remain, perhaps without movement, only a pure pictorial line, although my immense desire, rutsineh alcisturnash (obtained through a similar process), was to give birth to a new opening for the beautiful, for the good, for the unexpected.

Leadership: Does the universe of your creation offer other people the opportunity to transform into an expressive and melancholic continuum that functions as an evocation of the special appreciation acquired by the uniqueness of a particular moment in the face of an openness to alterity?

A century lived in the memory of life gives all the beauty of life, revealing all the best in me. When the artist retires to a corner on the edge of the world, where he has only a straw bed and a table from the pine stumps, with his carelessness in the face of the passage of time, living without obedience to the events of daily life, he knows that this is the only way he can cancel the impression of luxury, which is actually a limitation of the effort to trans-substantialize the world into spiritual spaces. It’s a chapter I could call: a return to origins. From here everything started…

I remember the time I knew what happiness was….

And when the rose senses the elevation of its construction in the genuine temple of the beautiful that crowns the artist’s creation in the vicinity of the absolute, in the space of silence beyond the luminous sphere of Ain Soph, ever closer to the destiny-human ideality, only then can the veracity of Cella Serghi’s words from the novel “On the spider thread of memory” be confirmed:

“I think the true experience of life begins when you feel alone, not only misunderstood, but really alone. Spend whole nights of loneliness, and then a day will come when you don’t expect anything. That’s why it’s worth it. I am not talking about a lust for pain, but a kind of discovery of yours, alongside you, lucid…

Sometimes happiness is at the end of the world. I would like to feel again as I felt in some days when I saw all the bridges between me and the outside world crumbling, listening to the loneliness as you listened to the sea, when everything seemed detached from a story of eternity that you would like to change only through the lack of the narrator character. Tonight will be a memory too…”

The greatness of a creation consists in presenting a special moment in the landscape of a life that assumes immortality through an echo of emotions: “it is worth living in memory of times that pass quickly, but which do not lose their meaning even after the passing of the years in which they were shaped, with or without the brush.”

Memory is a form of meeting the work of art with its creator, of the rose with the common mortal, seen through a thrill of mystery, of longing, of uncontrolled emotion: “If you touch me, you’ll understand what happiness is. Look, a new day has begun…”

* Note: Barbra Streisand - Memory

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