By Román Aixendri
Photo & Video: Andrei Moldovan
Editing: Priscila Alegre
Here it's so cold I can hardly speak. I almost feel like not doing it. The speech bubble fills my head like clouds, as if they were thoughts of a comic strip. I'm jumping around like a harmless and graceful lobster. The whiteness walks with me on my trip.
I imagine the white landscape of this corner, Tramontana’s son. My legs are brushes. The colors are the ideas. Here, in the old north of Catalonia, in Cap de Creus there is the possibility of an island, rather of a peninsula. Fleeing the world, back to oneself, here it is possible. The Costa Brava on the horizon and all the small earth, to the hawk's eye, helps us to see reality as what is, irrelevant and atomic.
A fairytale lighthouse and inspirational Dalinian fantasies, also Albert Serra's, erects up all by pushing his lumber sperm toward the sea. The same sea that removes the foam from which Aphrodite was born. Sensuality, not sex. Cap de Creus inspires both eroticism and asceticism and recollection. Here it is cold, but the body swells up in cosmic heat.
Peninsula that wants to end up in the water, that yearns jumping to the
sea, in search of a salty moisture.Dreamlike images and passers-by in the form of postcards. Forged souvenirs at low heat.
The Devil’s, possibly well-known, by superstitions or by his ambiguity. Natural park, wild land. Demons and letchers jumping and dancing where the reason can’t be understood. The only way to enter is with closed or bandaged eyes.
Without compass or watch I make my way. I take the story with me. The Port de la Selva and La Selva de Mar recall an unrestrained environment aroma to clam. I travel these in search of nothingness. Go through Llançà and Cadaqués and through Roses. All this, poetic names conceived in the ear of a sailor.
A full moon night, captivated by the Bohemian, a captain had to get drunk by wishing mermaids. Dreaming of cognac and pissing challenging stars, climbing to the crest of a steep hill. A dream of a summer night. Shakespeare and I in Cap de Creus, towards infinity. I do not want to talk The fascination speaks for me. I have not said anything.