Very high in the air windmills announce that the fantasy table is set and ready to welcome everyone willing to enjoy the endless declinations, the mutable temptations, the astonishing qualities.
There are unique objects, like Man, which, like Man, look for their kind. Objects that, like Man, have character, personality, inclinations so deeply innate to drive to surprising meetings. Objects that, like Man, mark the Style.
He. She. The harmony of the opposites. Black and White, the contrast of the identity. Them. Divided and united, in perfect balance. Towards a circular, endless and unique meeting, as always it is, encountering the Other.
He. She. The harmony of the opposites. Black and White, the contrast of the identity. Them. Divided and united, in perfect balance. Towards a circular, endless and unique meeting, as always it is, encountering the Other.
In the garden, between lights and shadows, it looked like YY was standing out. But after taking a closer look, the true seems more likely to be the opposite. Thanks to that table, the garden looked so green as never before.
In the garden, between lights and shadows, it looked like YY was standing out. But after taking a closer look, the true seems more likely to be the opposite. Thanks to that table, the garden looked so green as never before.
One, add one, add one, add one. The result is not the addition of One, but the disantagle of its inmost power. The perception changes the unchanging nature of the perceived. And a horizon opens up that confuses the mathematician and clears the mind of the One.
One, add one, add one, add one. The result is not the addition of One, but the disantagle of its inmost power. The perception changes the unchanging nature of the perceived. And a horizon opens up that confuses the mathematician and clears the mind of the One.
There is a strong language in the silence of the symbols, a hidden and secret energy that no words can contain, that long speech can only confuse and disperse.
There is a strong language in the silence of the symbols, a hidden and secret energy that no words can contain, that long speech can only confuse and disperse.
Leave me alone. I want a changeable space that wraps me up. An open space. Don't ask me what should be its shape, its boundaries. It is only a plane. My plan to grow, to know.
Leave me alone. I want a changeable space that wraps me up. An open space. Don't ask me what should be its shape, its boundaries. It is only a plane. My plan to grow, to know.
The mirror sends back the Black image that the reality offers White inside and outside every reflection. Right and left get mixed up in the mirror and join together in the reality. The style is pure essence. The rest can wait.
The mirror sends back the Black image that the reality offers White inside and outside every reflection. Right and left get mixed up in the mirror and join together in the reality. The style is pure essence. The rest can wait.
What is future? What past? And modern? And ancient? How much of our future is running in the present and, observe, it has already flowed in the past, lost in moments of absent? The beauty is here, now. It is only waiting to be celebrated.
What is future? What past? And modern? And ancient? How much of our future is running in the present and, observe, it has already flowed in the past, lost in moments of absent? The beauty is here, now. It is only waiting to be celebrated.
Every sculpture takes shape from how much of its wrapping material would be removed. Its creation is the outcome of the elimination of surplus. Each block of rock, each piece of wood, possess inside a work of art. After eliminating the waste, purity emerges. In art. In design. And in the human soul.
