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Stories of Water | 1

In more ways than not, the sea has been a sort of north star. I grew up staring south, at the Atlantic, which both divides and links with the African Continent. That’s a lot of responsibility to have; but the large ocean, patiently and quietly, took care of the deal. I then moved north, where to my surprise squinting the eyes to try to see Morocco was pointless; across the colder, stormy waters the next Continent was much further away. I was slightly confused for not figuring with precision the exact location of Azores, as if by some mistake, my flying imagination wouldn't cross but crash into the islands. Someone could get hurt. I then moved to Belgium, where the closest water was a river and the sea too far away; I actually didn't see it. Followed to Barcelona where this picture was taken, and again, the open waters were in a new direction and some winds had the same Levante name, but came from a different direction. It was all very confusing. Aimlessly, I enquired sailors about the increased buoyancy provided by the salted Mediterranean waters; was it faster to sail? No one could answer. Once again I changed course further south, where the large Atlantic waters open into an infinitum that with familiarity fine tunes my body as if my whole existence was solely a guitar in its hands; but it is not. It has been my guidance, my north star located south, my playground and a large part of what connects me to other things I couldn't otherwise know: Continents, people, ways of being. All while being there, so quiet and discreet, patiently being for thousands of years.


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