This buoy we are now launching to the sea is the messenger of a moment of our consciousness. Its travel starts in the brief summer of an arbitrary line, traced by geography, history and politics. East, West, South or North are irrelevant: the consciousness assumes the freedom to face sea streams, storms, glacial nights, sunny days; it will play with the seals and whales; it will stay calm under cloudy skies. Its uncertainty will make it fearless, for it is the lack of direction that will become the symbol of its freedom to transgress frontiers, yesterdays, tomorrows; passports, visas and exiles. The buoy will wander free, rootless, unconditionally devoted to the solitude of the seas where it will light up a path that vanishes as soon as the traveler continues its journey. This buoy is the herald of our own ideal of Art and, as such, it has no attachments and does not ask for permission. Art has no certitudes and searches, on the contrary, that the fortune defines the route. It does not chase the light: it is the light that emerges from it.

Some fear uncertain journeys. Not this buoy. Not this moment of the consciousness when we become the passengers of our own vessel: the body, with its light, without fearing loneliness or transgression. Life goes on, and so the buoy will move forward, backward or inward. It really does not matter where will it go… or if the waves will smash it against a crowded beach or if it will find itself stabbed by the anchor of an old, abandoned ship. This might mark the end of incertitude, but also the end of the freedom to float and explore.

This buoy does not despise the meaning that other travelers wish to impose on their promenades. However, it celebrates the detachment, the liberation from the anxiety that causes the lack a “great objective”, a final goal. When the buoy is launched there will not be more calendars: only light emerging from the cheerful solitude of those who transgress frontiers and make of this transgression the compass that guides its journey.

The buoy is the possibility to extend the body beyond the frontiers that we cannot physically cross: the human matter, politics, money… The buoy is that envoy of the soul of those travelers who know that the limits of the spirit are only where we imagine they are… although the tangibles, indeed, can touch our skin or even pierce it if we cross them. This might be the limit of our human matter, yes, but not of the consciousness and the spirit that inspires it. This act marks the limits of the body, yes, but under protest.

Yolanda Muñoz