I'm staring at Arles images tonight, and I'm going to stare at them tomorrow again. I see on the house's front, and in the light's streets, the fire of a hidden life. I understand why you started to create in the way you did when you came to Arles. Two days ago, I sought your ear. I didn't found it; surely because you gave it to a prostitute as a present. The more I know your life, the more I understand the harsh face of the life, of every life. We walk by a sharp kerbstone, beated by winds, beside the sick heigh of a precipice. Society compels us to go ahead to don't fall to reach the end of the journey. But the end of the travel is always far away. The more we approach it, the more it gets far away from us. Society harms us for not walking faster, but we can't do more than what we can do. And we realise we don't own our own thoughts. Our thoughts are guided by a dark and strange brain's smoke. Today we think we want an specific thing, tomorrow we sincerely think we don't want that thing. Today we feel one reality is great, tomorrow we are aware that reality is ugly. Our will is the result of the brain's chemichal and the past experiences and the knowledges. Our brain's chemical depends on many factors. Many times we are afraid of living, but, willy-nillie, we have to live because some dear human beings need us, and we live for them.
On this golden walls of Arles, I discover the hidden fire of the life you painted. Some years before, you were a slave of a stone's creed. Probably, you sought safety in the deep and invariable faith of the religion, but any safety is a fantasy, because the life that helds us is a continual mistery. None is evident. If someone sells us a stone's safety, we have to ask ourselves what we have to pay for it. The stronger our safety is, the harder our chains are. Our freedom needs to walk down the weak road of the truth. We walk after the truth in a strange and natural trend, but this walking will compel us to change our direction again and again, because we are blind ones fumbling along a bit in the darkness to chase the lovely truth we worship. Freedom is worth despite our unsafe journey towards the future. And, if the death, willy-nilly, is waiting us at the end of the journey, why not be brave and embrace the core of the freedom with our whole heart?
Freedom and love are two sides of the same reality, because there's no freedom without love. Hate is the heaviest chain, it paralyzes our power's mind, it gets dark our thoughts, it messes up our steps. There's no any sort of freedom without love. I also see the love on every yellow of your pictures. The love is so versatile that it can emerge from any heart, despite his or her dark soul's illnesses. But many times, the love that emerges is sick, full of possessive will, blind and weak. When it happens, our freedom is weak too.
Sometimes, I realise I have the same fear you have. I need the power of the beauty to overcome this deep and bitter fear. I chase the beauty not to becoming great but to feeling safer. I found the essential answer to all my questions in the beauty of the things. I drink the molten beauty of the things to win the battle against my obsessive fears. And despite these fears, I feel I'm happy. The secret of the life is the art of reaching happiness even in the darkest times of our lives. In the night, the name of the happiness is “peace”. But we have to work this peace as if a baby was borning. We have to bear this peace as a strong mother that believes in life, that believes in future. In the night, peace is the work of an artist, and we are the artists, and we will win.