Where the sea ends
This small journey is a trip to a no-place; it was born in my mind on a Monday morning.
I was born in a very small town on the sea and I spent a lot of my time with my feet in the sand looking at the sea. Sometimes the silence in this place is so “immense” to be “deafening” but most of the time it is wonderful.
Monday, November 4th, 2019 it was a wonderful day, the day after a big sea storm, a very sunny and windy day.
No one around me, the whole beach was mine. The light was marvelous.
This was enough. My mental trip started.
Me, the silence, the nature with her colors, sounds, and scents and finally my camera.
I went back twenty years or more when I read “Ocean Sea” by Alessandro Baricco.
“You must be Bartleboom, sir.”
Bartleboom had really been expecting a wave. Or something of that kind. He looked up and saw a woman, wrapped in an elegant purple cloak.
“Bartleboom, yes . . . Professor Ismael Bartleboom.”
“Have you lost something?”
Bartleboom realized that he was still bent over forward, a frozen contour of the optical instrument he had transformed himself into. He straightened up with all the ease he was capable of. Very little indeed.
“No. I am working.”
“Yes, I am . . . I am engaged in research, you see, research . . .”
“Scientific research, I mean to say . . .”
Silence. The woman drew her purple cloak closer around her.
“Shells, lichens, things of that kind?”
Just like that: waves.
“That is . . . you see there, where the water arrives . . . runs up the beach, then stops . . . there, precisely that point, where it stops . . . it really lasts no more than an instant, look there, there, for example, there . . . you see that it lasts only an instant, then it disappears, but if one were to succeed in suspending that instant . . . when the water stops, precisely that point, that curve . . . this is what I am studying. Where the water stops.”
“And what is there to study?”
“Well, it’s an important point . . . sometimes you hardly notice it, but if you think about, it something extraordinary happens at that point, something . . . extraordinary.”
Bartleboom leaned slightly closer to the woman. One would have thought that he had a secret to tell when he said, “That is where the sea ends.”
The immense sea, the ocean sea, which runs infinitely beyond all sight, the huge omnipotent sea—there is a point where it ends, and an instant—the immense sea, the tiniest place and a split
second. This was what Bartleboom wanted to say.
Baricco, Alessandro. Ocean Sea