It’s addictive. I wish I could but still don’t know how to paint this night dive experience. I was there, fifteen meters deep in the water, but somehow I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t feel at all where I was. I saw darkness and only little pieces of the space around me floodlit by the flashlight. But it didn’t matter. Every now and then I got this strange thought: it is actually ME who’s diving here in this dark, cold depth. Then where was I just a second before? My body was there. My senses were there. But the conscoiusness was floating somewhere in the Universe. Or even totally absent. No other thoughts. Just being. Without knowing.
If you asked me then… of course, you couldn’t. And I wouldn’t answer. I could communicate though with my partner on some basic level. You have all this sings. But it’s primitive. Almost automatic. The language of this world is reduced to minimum. Up, down, stop, go, me and you… and it is defining this underworld. It makes it simple. No ambiguities. No hesitations. No lies. You have to trust the other person. Yet that person is somehow anonymous. Hidden behind the mask. Point of light in the darkness. Composed of the simple signs, like you. And yet you do care. If in stress you have to be there, fast. You have to be aware. Being aware of everything except your presence.
And when I slowly reappeared above the water, there she was: the Red Moon with all the stars showing me the way home.
That was only the first step I made. And there is the whole world lying under the surface, waiting to be seen. All this creatures I can meet there, in the silence. In the out-time.
How to paint all of that? I’m desperate to feel it again. To be again…