Neculai Fantanaru

Everything Depends On The Leader

Saltwater

On June 11, 2018
, in
Leadership Z3-Extended by Neculai Fantanaru

You will never appreciate a form of existence of perfection if you do not feed from the depths of its boundlessness.

Throughout my life I have made restless remarks about high dreams, great ambitions for an artist of the word and of eternal beauty, whose significance can only be given by the sea. This force of nature, full of a subtle poetry of movements of the waves, with the brilliance and framing of their sound, keeps its splendid splendor over the times of the Iliad and Odyssey.

The unending endlessness of the song of the sirens and the faded voice of the poet, a metaphor, seems to be capable of orchestrating the composition of many lives, of uniting worlds or of absorbing them in an endless abyss. One thought seems to whisper about love and faith through the mysterious appearance of an ineffable harmony that will be lived in the form of oceanic happiness: to go on a long journey that ticks as a destination the unread realms of the mythical universe.

Immersing myself in dreams, as the fine sand plunges into the vast sea, unknown and yet so familiar, I feel as if I am adopting a way of moving from one reality to another, a projection of perspective on the experience of circumscribing a line of contouring a spatial area, defining it out of a form of association imposed by the multitude of thoughts within a vibrant art.

For a moment that resembles eternity, a rebirth to something other than what was before, I am in possession of secrets gathered over the ancient times when living and thoughts merged into a single land.

Everything that perishes in me seems to revert from the creative force of the navigation experience into a virtual space, accepted by immortality as an old document, in the forms that only the sea song and the solos of the summer breeze know. The rise of a solemn love or the sunset of a torrid day are suggested in a synthetic, evanescent but charming manner in a composition made up of colorful spots, predominantly blue and green, opposite to the act of drawing new horizons of dream and hope.

Leadership: Are you turning to a new version of personal transformation, using the intense echoes of an endless WHOLE to capture images from that difficult to access part of a reality received only from an artistic standpoint?

When the artist contemplates the endlessness of the sea, immanent to the processes of perception of its depth reflected through comparisons and other figures of speech (the visual ability to perceive the size of each moment), it isolates the form and content of the entire universe as an existence separate from the background of the surrounding beauty’s extension.

This is how for someone like me, caught in the gear of words whose effect of the surreal possesses an endless potential of expressiveness, the measure of understanding life resides in the vivid curiosity of those who sink into an abyss without end, and suddenly spring forth like a torrent in a creative expression. One is to observe a reality, another thing entirely to live in it.

The message so skillfully camouflaged by a sort of summary of the times brought by the waves into a transparent bottle of the rear-view mirror appears to me in the red light of the twilight and seems as clear as can be to me: I am far too small in world that is far too big. Only the painting, through its desire to recreate the materiality of the space modeled in the depths, goes to the ambitions of a theory of extending beyond the sound of the sea, where the aroma of distances is felt.

The sea both frightens you and offers you moments of sunshine, it offers you storms and wonderful oases of tranquility. The full knowledge of this wise colossus, unfolding its arms to the shore as if to test its resistance, grinding its edges anyway, is the example that for so many centuries the elders give to the young: never will you be able to evaluate a masterpiece if you do not contribute to its perfection, immortality and godliness.

Leadership: Do you try to prove your true creative power by remaining at the "finding" stage of full compatibility through the requirements of an eternal present that is updated by the most intense experiences?

For who knows how many times now I feel the strange need to walk in the footsteps of Ulysses or Dionysus, like wandering stars, listen to the flute of the sea, to be the wind blowing you further than your destiny allows, to venture beyond the patience of time. Just to impress in an unequivocal writing the idea of spiritual fluidity.

The sea has a single penetration formula that everyone feels, but only explorer Jacques-Yves Cousteau has found the right words to express it with such stylistic refinement: "once she cast her spell, she keeps you in her grasp forever."

As an ancient philosopher, the sea dominates me through moralizing teachings, talking to me from the outpouring of a pain that concerns me exclusively, from the extent of the symbolic relationships she can express as a means of language (configuration and expression) of the art of painting, the speculative game of consciousness on the limits of being. All these are sublimated in a seismic vibration that unleashes the high tension of the most complex experiences: dream and imagination.

She responds to the aspirations of simple hearts, but only to those who measured her abyss.

If I had to describe myself in a few "oceanic" terms, I would find myself lucky, moving the cursor of interpretation from the artistic towards the psychological, philosophical and existential. And I would attribute, with some trace of culpability, a divine right, representing the unquestionable qualities of an agitated reality, as a tribute to loneliness that thus acquires the creative and founding function: the right of succession to a content full of puzzles that can only be deciphered through an esoteric knowledge.

Leadership: Are you able to decipher your content full of feeling in one impact area of ​​an endless stretch that overcomes all the adversities of a destiny that pursues you without your knowing?

With tender care, eager to clarify her feelings, the sea brings to my attention a small piece of Emperor Hadrian’s vast inner speech who remembered his life with a stray, grave, ravaged air dominated by a moralizing passion:

"In the old days, when I was contemplating my own end, like a self-conscientious rudder, but trembling for the passengers and the load of the ship, I was bitterly telling myself that this memory would sink with me. The young being, embalmed with care within the depths of my memory, seemed to me that it would have to perish a second time. But fear, so justifiable, subsided in part. I compensated that early death in what manner I could. An image, a reflex, a weak echo will last for at least a few centuries. As far as immortality is concerned, nothing more can be done."

The Sea seeks the formation of a reflexive spirit, pours out the meanders of an exemplary destiny for the alternative of death in a single sense immortalized in immortality, through a visual identity, through a sort of its abstract, austere essence, without corporality, possessing an endless potential of expressivity.

When I will have the opportunity again, I will certainly return to contemplate the eyes of an artist armed with the claims of a demiurge who takes the risk of turning painting into a space of purity of the creative act as a more direct communication between the sensibility of a world in full rebirth and the story of a repeating dream.

It has a quantity, it crosses the recurrent cycle of evaporations, clouds and rains, has warmth, has depth, hides an inestimable treasure, has a sanctifying power, has therapeutic effect, has a borderless experience, has a special ecology, has strength, sensitivity, charm, meaning. It has everything you need to turn you into a Ulysses endowed with the amazing quickness of the brush and the mind. And it still teaches you an important lesson of leadership:

You will never appreciate a form of existence of perfection if you do not feed from the depths of its boundlessness.

Saltwater suggests the content of a charming sea that sheds her blue at the same point, in her uninterrupted and unimpeded flow into a much larger ocean called Time, which the universe has always outlined, and mankind can barely understand it.



* Note: Chicane - Saltwater

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