On a boat side, water lines mark the limit between the part of the hull that emerges and the part that remains underwater. It is the visible sign of the balance of a floating boat and the point at which it is relentlessly lapped by the sea. And as time passes by, the waves do to boats what events do to men: they alter, fade, consume, modify, confuse.
So the following season the fisherman cleans the hull, spreads a new color on the old one and the dance of the sea can begin again: its endless work leaves new signs and uncover what’s beneath. Sometimes entire landscapes and horizons emerge.
On water lines, where sky and sea meet each other, I see the unstable balance between visible and invisible, light and shadow, truth and falsity, rational and irrational, conscious and unconscious, those balances that each one infinitely composes and recomposes in life.
