ISLAND

The island is the world, in a place where the world does not exist anymore. Far away, apart, remote ... lost.

I think of a desert island, not because uninhabited, but because it creates the desert all around, claiming a difficult path to take between itself and the world. Reaching it means crossing that space, abandoning the search for the ultimate destination, until finding ourselves in that desert, ever wider when under our feet, until we find ourselves far away, separate, apart: island.

Island is a concept that manifests itself in an act of desertion, deserting without becoming deserts ourselves, keeping within us the richness of the most colourful fauna and of a place frozen in time, where even the instant of the end may become a simple step: isn’t the ship that comes to look for castaway an island itself?

The Island is the place where the desert itself is put outside, to exclude, defend or, more simply, separate. Separate as to make something sacred.

To make sacred is not simply the act of protecting a separation: that separation of which the island becomes the paradigm. It indicates the separation, the distinction, and the reality that eludes any comparison. To separate in time and space the acts of seeing and watching; watching is the place of the instant and of the breath in front of a distracted act of seeing, and a watch creates the memories that the act of seeing omits.

An island is no longer a place of rock and earth built who knows when from the depths of the sea: the island is something, big or small, insignificant or significant, which the eye looks at, making it sacred, separate, distinguishing it from the sea of the undistinguished act of seeing. Islands shaped by the aware search for a detail, or islands that shape our view rising unexpectedly, suddenly, in front of our distraction, immediately becoming queens.