Sea Sings

An ecru sky crossed by gold, like a held-in song. The light is not frank, it surfaces, it whispers. Glints of gold leaf come to make it vibrate at the surface, without ever saturating it.

At the horizon, the gold bursts forth at last. Generous, sovereign, it draws the luminous frontier between air and water. It is there that sea and sky meet, in that band of incandescent matter that seems to carry within it every sunset past.

Below, the Mediterranean unfolds its secrets. Translucent turquoises, deep greens, purples hidden in the underlying layers. A patient work in successive strata, where each gesture leaves a trace, where the matter keeps the memory of brush, of knife, of sponge.

The sea, here, is not contemplated. It is listened to.

Matter, structural plaster, acrylic, gold leaf. Wabi-sabi. The sea does not tell its story. It sings.