In the wonders of this present world, you shall find love and peace. Embrasse the nature of God, let Him burn your eyes and melt your soul. Fly, body ! Fly !
JFREWULHÖK, 2018, 195x125 cm
Salatignas, 2018, 200cm
The tale of the tamed harp
In the ravine of the Dragon Gate stood a long, long time ago, a kiri tree that was the real king of the forest. He wore his head high enough to converse with the stars, and his roots sank so deep into the earth that they mingled their bronze rings with those of the silver dragon that slept beneath him. And it happened that a powerful magician made of this tree a marvelous harp, whose fierce spirit could only be tamed by the greatest of the musicians. For a long time the instrument was part of the treasure of the Emperor of China, but none of those who, in turn, had tried to pull a melody from his strings, saw his attempt successful. In answer to their supreme efforts, it only came out of the harp harsh notes of dwarf, little in harmony with the songs they wished to sing. The harp refused to recognize its master.
Finally came P'ei Wou, the prince of the harpists. With a delicate hand he caressed the harp, as when trying to calm a restive horse, and began to gently touch the strings. He sang nature and the seasons, the high mountains. and running waters; and all the memories of the tree awoke! Again the gentle breeze of spring was played across the branches. The young cataracts, dancing in the ravine, smiled at the flowers in bud. Again we heard the dreamy voices of the summer, with their myriad of insects, and the pretty beating of the rain, and the cuckoo's moan. Listen! a tiger has roared and the echo of the valley answers him. It's fall ; in the deserted night, sharp as a sword, the moon sparkles on the frozen grass. Winter now reigns and through the air full of snow swirls fly, and sound hailstones hit the branches with wild joy.
Then P'ei Wou changed his tone and sang love. The forest bowed like an ardent young man lost in thought. Up there, like a proud young girl, stole a beautiful bright cloud; but his passage dragged on the ground long shadows, black as despair. The tone changed again; P'ei Wou sang the war, the swords clashing and the horses pawing. And in the harp rose the storm of the Dragon Gate; the dragon rode lightning, the avalanche crumbled across the hills with a thunderous sound. The Celestial monarch, ecstatic, asked P'ei Wou what was the secret of his victory. "Sire, he replied, they all failed because they sang only themselves, I let the harp choose its theme, and in truth I did not know if it was the harp that was P'ei Wou or P'ei Wou who was the harp."
The Book of Tea, Kakuzo Okakura
HJWIJK, 2017, 120x90 cm
KUWHMTY, 2017, 120x90 cm
OGMPHAT, 2017, 120x90 cm
Anima Mundi, 2017, 90 cm