La Mer est un miroir

There are days when the sea becomes a mirror. When it no longer tells, it reflects. When sky and water answer each other in a wordless conversation.

Above, a sky of light blue finely crackled, like an old porcelain that held its ground. The matter carries the traces of time, the soft skin of an inhabited light. In the middle, a band of powdered pink and gold, a tender frontier between two blues.

Below, the deep sea. Dense, muffled, almost secret. It carries within it lighter glints, like reflections of the sky settled there. It is the mirror of everything that looks upon it.

Matter, structural plaster, acrylic, gold leaf. Wabi-sabi. The sea does not speak. It reflects.