Foto di Planet Volumes su Unsplash
I see this photo, and it’s as if my heart opens.
I’ll title it: “Floral Vibration.”
My first reaction is: I want to try it too. But I stop immediately: it’s that, it’s the image, no point in replicating it. Much better to look at it, as one would at an exhibition, simply, that’s the time.
What does it represent? What is the subject?
Indeed, nothing: blurry, moving things, perhaps a flower, a floral arrangement. Yes, I tell myself, they should be flowers. But the real flowers have disappeared: what you see is the internal flower.
Since we humans are iconic animals, other images immediately appear, juxtaposing themselves in my mind. My immediate association is with Monet’s Water Lilies. Extremely famous. Mysterious. Introspective. Zen.
But this image, ‘Floral Vibration’ (a photo? Or what else? A rendering? A graphic? Who knows!) is also something different. If Water Lilies and Monet depict what exists only ‘within,’ photography derives from reality, but abandons it to soar. The heart, which reacts, has risen in tone. There is movement, which is not internal but external: the hand has moved, the arm follows it, the movement is helical, the colors spread in the blur, become diaphanous, transmute.
Then comes the most profound mental association, but it’s a story.
On the beach, lying in the sun, with my eyes closed. I hear the sound of the sea, a faint surf. I half close my eyes. I don’t open them, it’s too light. And between the lashes holding back the salt water, the colors fade, the light flickers, everything becomes diaphanous, yet sunlit, blurred, delicate yet violent, if I even think about opening my eyes. Everything has risen in tone, reality vibrates with arpeggiated strings. It’s a moment, then you have to decide: close your eyes or open them to dive back into the water.
No, you stay like that, with your eyes half-closed. Time doesn’t always have to pass quickly.
