What You See In The Distance Multiplies What You See Up Close

The most ordinary path you have to cross does not lack mirrors that enliven the visible in an interactive collage of images that search for their whole in the depths of memory.

I have always imagined the sea, glistening in the sunlight, as a kind of visual analytical framework, globalist, abstract, undifferentiated, designed as if to create a play of shapes and colors from the breaking waves that gently hit the shore on hot summer days. This is how an essential moment of creative thought, at least partially, transmitted through the testimony of an eyewitness, becomes an integral part of the symbolic imagination established in the face of the effort to follow the demonstration of a universal law of causality: “what you see can steal you into a few moments, and it can take you out to sea”.

And it was looking at me with blue cat eyes. The sea was so beautiful, captured by my eyes as in a dream painting, painted in the ancient Egyptian technique of encaustic. And it looked at me in a kind of visual repose, scrutinizing my torment of enduring the afternoon heat, and it spoke to me in a blues man’s voice that, conquering me completely, carried me around the world in a whirlwind dizzy:

- Nicu, you are becoming more and more silent, just like me: constantly restless on the surface, silent and of immense strength in the depths. Come on, try to smile. You once promised me, in the middle of eternity, in a narrative reality, that no matter how hard it is, we will find each other and no matter how many barriers are in front of us, we will break through. I can’t stand men who break their promises, just as I can’t stand dreamers who yearn, as if in a diffuse memory, for other worlds that here would seem unreal, but are as true as possible.

Are you doubled by a reflection that adds intensity to the content of emotions expressed by you in the entire path you have to go through until the moment of imagining yourself in another posture?

What you see in the distance multiplies what you see up close, like in a photograph. That’s exactly how things used to happen on the seaside, during the summer. Looking at it with “don’t forget me” eyes, the sea seemed to claim a unique beauty, it even had that vastness from the outline of my dreams in which I could take in almost the entire globe at a glance, a kind of landscape extension in a picture of the progress of the artist’s mind, making each wave bring to the shore a new view, from another world. As is the world of coral reefs that clarify and give an intense color to the sea.

And no matter how often I would revisit these images on the screen of my mind, including them in a retort of the fusion of old and new, under the sign of the possible and the plausible, and no matter how much I liked the role of a viewer of nature, I still could only understand the sea only in the compensatory space of illusion, of the fantastic and of fantasy. It is clear that the image of the sea comes to illuminate my image, thus creating a kind of transversal determinism between the feeling of peace of mind and that purity of spirit embodied in a physical image.

A new pose offered me the opportunity to express my admiration for what the sea represents: the pose as a symbol of eternity. The mysterious depth of Eternity was opening before my astonished gaze…

I recognized a similar idea in a book by Paul Auster. The character was in a perpetual search for his lost identity. At one point, Quinn looked at the photograph that captured its viewer’s face, as if hoping for some sudden inspiration, some unexpected undercurrent of information to help him understand the man. But the picture told him nothing. It looked like a photo of an ordinary man. He studied it for a moment longer and concluded that the person could have been anyone, just as well as himself.

Can you contain yourself in an image that mirrors the idea of “reliving old emotional reactions”, in a lasting and secure connection with the object of your gaze?

The same for me, but in a sustainable and safe connection with the sea. Because I recognized myself mirrored in the image in which I always looked at myself, with the gaze of distance that absorbs the viewer in the eye of its devouring energy, with the intensity of the sensation of infinity, of a distance that is lost without dissipating. Like an artist who lives spiritually, I realized that I can only contain myself in an image that mirrors the sky and the sun. And that’s exactly what the sea does: it plays the role of a contemplative mirror, the fruit of shy emotions, reflecting warm light and subtle transparencies, being ineffably perceived in my own universe as a rarity of memories that remain alive in the soul.

So many times, having the charm of a 100% natural image, but seeming unreal when it is processed in a mythical or poetic manner, the sea looked at me thoughtfully, with melancholy, with a serenity of a sort of spatial vision, sure of the atmospheric effects of her dream painting. But, as many times, he looked at me with that increased attention of the painter who wants to suggest the ingenious game of free strokes, in various tones of green and sky blue.

It is clear that in terms of color, I prefer diluted tonalities, that is, another way of interpreting shades, based on which the changing colors of the sea can be distinguished, absolutely fantastic, which delights you with the strong impression that the overall picture leaves you with: amazement, enchantment, spell.

Does your ability to mirror in the object of your gaze allow you to live the experiences that generate your transformation into a landmark of uniqueness engaged in rendering an imaginary content that allows you to deliver “perception and sincerity”?

I started a new life. Having nowhere to go, I still look at the sea as she looks at me in the context in which I seem much too young for her to trust me, as if I would take care of her naturally. I wish, however, to somehow justify this trust, make her never lose it, but that would mean living once more the life in which I was the sea, and the sea was sand. For you cannot be angry with someone who was the same as you, in a life and in another time when the supreme creator, with the help of patience, plucking one atom at a time from the stars or from the seas, atoms of metals – of gold, iron, emerald – made each thing complementary to another.

I do not think there is a surer way to prove to myself that long ago I was a rolling sea, wider than the sea that you are, than by a transference of affection, revealing in great secret, with relative objectivity, an image that I will always keep in my heart. Because it was not something fleeting that the memory of time buries as something anonymous. And I would like one more thing: to feel that I myself was the magic of the sea that the sunset landscapes and the perfect waves for surfing offer.

Or perhaps these things have very little to do with words, so little, in fact, that it seems useless to me to try to lay them down in too savory a way. For, as you soar among the blue waves of the sea, words are no longer words, but only a strange code of silences. They make you shine alone in the sea…

Leadership can be produced in the expansion of the phenomenon of “mirroring in one’s own being”, when what marks the entire course of your existence is given by multisensory perception: emotions and memories, outlined in a narrative-subjective core, which write personal history.

What You See In The Distance Multiplies What You See Up Close, especially if I consider the idea that the sea and its waves, the sun warming the sand, are only reflections of a higher reality that exists independently of the thinking subject, but which at the same time become an objectification of the infinite in the finite open to infinity.

And as long as they exist, I will exist too, because I have demonstrated that I am the reflection of their image, in a hyperplane that has only one value of its own: of + ∞