The Castaway (90” x 192”)
In his tiny sovereignty the castaway at once both a king and a subject. He is trapped, trapped ironically by the interminable ocean that millions of years ago bore him. His lot is intolerable, but the island could care less.. his denial is no match for the solemn horizon, the remorseless sun, the innocuous grit of the sand. As much as he resists, the island does not resist back. Its indifference is beguiling, torturous.. it only persists, identical, day after day.
Gradually, and imperceptibly his opposition abates.. making way for the robotic instinct to persist parallel to the habitat. He is no longer an intruder of the island, he is now part of it. He drinks coconut milk, he is burnt by the sun, he contemplates, he is bored, he pities himself. The concept of time has long ago, hazily become obsolete. No longer now is his existence successive but rather, repetitive, the same day, punctually reset by the merciful sedative of sleep.
Unfortunately, deep down, the plea for rescue never abates. The true torture of the island is the hope he will one day be rescued. Habitually, he looks at the horizon from time to time. It is always identical. Yet finally that dies too, it is the last to go, the last alien artifact in the island.
Magically, with the surrender comes liberation. He is no longer a castaway, no longer a king of nothingness. His destiny is finally in his own hands. The long inevitable moment arrives. He walks forward wading with calm conviction into the water. The liquid which was once a prison now greets and soothes his burnt skin. The sirens and the horizon beckon towards oblivion, towards salvation. He begins swimming away.