Enter the unintentional beauty of the day that fades, that escapes the desire of creation.
Surprise the hour when the mysteries of the night rise.
Taming the shadows, give them shape while the trees approach, conversing in the newfound darkness.
Celebrate the last light of day and accept the evidence of the short moment of uncertainty.
These few moments are home to the rise of the invisible world, when colors, pristine and glorious, journeyed back to themselves, before everything went missing.
The perfect time where the trees, dissolving into their environment, transiently, engulfed, offer traces of their disappearance.
When the earth and its works are recounted—works of passing time—reality fades and is left to be absorbed by a world that is becoming a dream.
Trace that which has sunk, concoct what has disappeared. Illusions. In the collapse of a world, there is only the intangible trace of what is lost: fleeting visions of crumbling figures which, if rusted, give way to gold in their absence. Ruins, forgotten columns, lost gardens... this is the internal archeology of time; that of a memory with gaps, which cracks when indiscernible images expose the workings of time. These are images of duration, because in not indicating an "it was" but a "that is," they give the past a texture that lets it creep into, develop, and invade the present.
Intermittent arrivals at the surface of the world, these visions rob reality by means of evaporation and proceed to erect a world inhabited by beings who have the consistency of dreams: those who, unbeknownst to us, have left traces, and those who have found us. Our transparency. They present themselves at that moment decisively, but outside oneself. Memory without memories, amnesia, which approaches what is known but unidentifiable. Memory which opens to the familiar and universal presence of the vanished that remains, at the moment when inner and outer merge to make a porous image.
These are fragments of alchemy where rust and fallen leaves are sublimated into gold: "The changing of bodies into light, and light into bodies, is very conformable to the course of Nature, which Seems Delighted with transmutations"
Sieving the streams at night, golden jets splash into the dark, sequined in black. Erratic presences, floating, fluctuating.
Here I am in search of these images that live from their shadows, from their weaknesses, from what they refuse to disclose in order to better reach the riddle of the in-between: the bright gap between two whirlpools; where the invisible accommodates in order to project the visible, where the visible hides within fragmented time.
Show the world as I believe it is, not as it appears or it appears to me; but as it disappears, when what remains is more consistent in its turbulent essence, eternally elliptical.
Insaisissable et dérivées
There were two shafts of light above a body of water.
The departing day gave birth to the strange sight of their disappearance, where the visible sinks and disappears into nothingness, becoming invisible and indivisible. Newton’s fluxion, the "quotient of the last two evanescent increments."
If sometimes the passage from one place to another is a shift, an in-between without perceptible transition, it also happens that it filters out the moments where a glimpse of the elusive is required, a call to drift. To drift among impressions, to drift in uncertainty, to drift in the ineffable.
Thus begins the slow, imprecise moment that makes space and time merge.
A Prospector's World