Solar Wind
Learn to create the environment necessary to reveal deep feelings, giving credibility and consistency to a reality that shapes you on the basis of a universal connection.
A hand from the shadows spreads the key to the only path in the dynamics of multiple caustics, just as the gods put before me the boundlessness of judgment. But not in the version of communication between planetary bodies by an energy system, and neither as an alternative destination to another level of knowledge, but as an interesting read that can be traveled in one clearly defined unit of time.
Without fail, I focus all my senses on this invisible arm, pierced by a boundless enigma interwoven between me and the text that the strength of immortality brings, projecting my depth on the page of a cosmic consciousness along with the signs of an original purity. Crossing the absurd? Real fiction? It is as if I were to propose a discovery of reality by myself, behind the concept of life after death, by using a combination of colors that does not talk about perfection but about the triumph of a sublime convenience between the need to overcome my own limits and the state of confusion of divided thoughts.
I am not all-knowing, but I can feel everything. Free in the totality of a spark of inspiration, to an image that wants itself to be real but it is actually not, I lay down my most expressive feelings regarding the effects of the world and that of darkness, as if hypnotized by the very spectacle of divine intervention. As with artists, they accept the reason for a despair of the nature of the spirit of interpreting the mysteries of the universe through chromatic contrasts that create depth and variety in an austere setting as a normality, situated at the boundary between dream and reality.
The colors that enlighten my destiny in God’s eternity, as an infinity of cosmic essences moving continually in all directions are contained in the written form of an understanding that goes beyond any frontier of time and space in the great dictionary of figurative language. They seem to take care of the profound implications of a chiaroscuro that only Caravaggio could have seen without too much difficulty.
Do you expose an important part of what you are on the continuous line of an original work of art, as you agree to be in competition with yourself?
As two hands together, text and painting mysteriously intertwine in a crazy game of hide and seek with life and death together, between the white of a paper converted into a confessor and the black as the tomb of a prophecy of centuries. The sensible basis of artistic construction, firmly supported by a play of close quality contrasts that give rise to tense rhythms, capable of suggesting emotional states and vital movements, fits the act of reporting the subject to a reality where nothing is as it was before.
The viewer of the painting whose essence is confused with the notion of gambling I insert in this unparalleled page, an essence that you have not yet guessed, seems left without an answer to a secular question: how do you have to interpret a labyrinth that constantly sets you new destinations, most of the time making you wander and you fail to reach any conclusion?
A window to another world is left open by the confession of a reflex of the true spiritual entity to which an artist’s image belongs on the creative scene of a burst of surging emotion, the division of a constant of infinity as a boundary of confidential scribblings. Inevitably, I accept to be in the face of a competition with myself as long as the immediate reality in which I believe with all my existence confirms the truths of a world that uncovers its boundlessness by constantly practicing the light and shadow mixing operation in a space of communication with God.
The truth seems more disorganized than ever. The landscape of dreams born of the chromatic palette of an impressionist style interwoven in front of the sky and the sunlight, which gives the feeling of a mystical encounter with God, falls within the fixed limits of a painting that is worthy of me alone.
Do you do everything to convince the erudite spectator of the number one quality of your genius, giving him the opportunity to enjoy a painting in the absence of his "understanding"?
I would ask the forger of the "moon and sun States" without disturbing anything from the hazard of a matchless inspiration: Tell me honestly, is it conceivable that something can come out of nothing?
Cyrano De Bergerac’s genius would answer me in writing with invisible ink on a white sheet like a spell that keeps you in place and does not frighten you: "Between nothing and a simple atom there is such an endlessness that even the sharpest mind cannot penetrate it. To get out of this unexplained maze, you must admit that matter is eternal, as is God, and then there will be no need for us to admit a God, because the world could have existed without Him."
The hand from the shadows withdraws its presence, but not before taking on the white garb of a page filled with thoughts turned to the tragedies of ancient missing libraries. Finally, here I separate myself from the contrast between appearance and essence, modeled by the chiaroscuro of a magic mirror in which I once again see my universe. My genius surpasses any expectations in that it leaves room for any interpretation when it comes to the visual perception of images, illusions of images and optical illusions that show that what is seen does not always coincide with reality.
Probably, I will never be able to reach the same God-like power, and the body of the angel in me is no exception even if it is immortalized in the universal literature under the immortal pen of Cyrano de Bergerac. But what is remarkable in this area of the painting that I have added to your experiences in the last 5 minutes is that no matter how much you try to give me a grade of "naivete", I’m sure that you will only find spiritual joy with Me. And nowhere else.
In a game of words in which the Moon actually covers the Sun’s disc, as a spell of hiding parts of the universal table, perhaps deeper than it seems at first glance, the image of the great clock that will cease to tell the time. Then I will become the altar dedicated to an unnamed God.
The exceptional creator status is suggested within the image itself through a figurative aspect. He is at the same time both within the image and somewhere else, in the way in which the story is told.
Solar Wind is an expression that is well-grounded in the literature of a minority that does not decompose itself by the lack of a thorough and deep understanding of the work itself, combining the gray color of an unpredictable universe with no rules, with the white of a page written in the language of feelings and desires.
In this way, I have to quote the gracious words of a great scholar, named Wilhelm Hauff, whose echo crossed the enormous distances of the universe and returned to me, as to all immortals, for a microscopic fraction of the immensity of an astral second:
"I am merely a young man forced to make his way through the world with his quill. I belong to all, I belong to myself, but I do not belong to any school… I do not feel over me any master nor teacher to whom I owe obedience, apart from the eternal laws of good and beauty, to which they tend, even so, in an imperfect manner. I may not be able to keep the form away from the influence of time, but my spirit will remain immeasurable."
