Art encountered by Art: 12 by Ryuichi Sakamoto
One man, one sea. Tumultuous waves that whip up foam. Dune-like sand, interwoven with vegetation that is struggling for air. About three quarters of the picture are made up of the sky, which is largely kept in a cool blue and gradually gets darker towards the sea, so that the clouds and the horizon blur together. In the center of the sky, clouds can be seen painstakingly emerging from the pale contrast of the sky blue. The sea is deliberately kept dark green to clearly separate it from the sky, creating a kind of visual border between the ocean and the sky.
The ocean seems endless. Perhaps precisely because it is empty, left only to itself. Thoughts follow the waves, sloshing to the shore and back into the ocean. Although the picture has no real vanishing point, our gaze wanders again and again to the person at the edge of the left third of the picture. The person wears a long dark brown, almost black robe that flows into the sand and covers the figure’s feet. He is thinking, we don’t know about what, and yet we have the feeling that we know. If you look closer at the picture, you realize that the edge of the horizon rises, like a veiling curtain. It remains questionable on which side of the curtain we are. Is it we who are looking at a stage, or are we being looked at from a stage? Is it we who are experiencing life, or is it life that is experiencing us?
The longer we stare at the image, the more a thought creeps over us. The person is not looking out to the ocean, he is much more looking into himself. But he is not looking at his character or anything like that. No, I think he is looking at his past. If we think about it, the picture itself contains a flaw. We inevitably have to ask ourselves eventually, how did the man get there? Where are his tracks in the sand? Where is his past? Or has he been standing there looking at the sea for so long that the wind has long since wiped away his traces?
I think the picture aims to convey to us that in order to make our existence as well as its traces disappear, it needs nothing more than the progress of time. Not only is everything ephemeral, but also everything ephemeral passes away someday. We are, after all, alone in our existence. However, being alone and feeling alone are two different things. Even if we don’t feel alone, we are, like the person in the picture. A tiny existence within existence itself and without any more profound meaning than the one given to us by ourselves.
Art is best encountered by art. Ryuichi Sakamoto’s brilliant album “12” makes us aware of our temporality, in a time of intense distraction, it exposes us to our thoughts. And we can’t help but say: finally.
