FATAMORGANA, act iii : Return of the Mirage

2.20 pm, where do i started about this one, hmmmmm, literally ahahah, few sips of coffee and

L F G G G G G !!!

from the warm shadowy light in my 3x5 meters room back on 2022 with the red candle wax, of course to make it mystic lol hahah, that is taking me way back to Jaisalmer desert back on 2019, i remember it was such a stormy night and quite literally i said: oh gods, seriously? tonight? hahahahaha, in such a feral trip my self with few strangers as a guide, into the darkest and maybe wettest night. to every drop feels like a breath and healing nourishment after long drought.

the taste of the air, the smells when it hits the sand, like a heaven opens up ~

just like this experiences in the desert of Jaisalmer that i wouldn't know it will be a stormy night and i'm still here actually alive, and birthing art from it within that long gap and period, it's like worth to wait, and even very unexpected that is now i'm writing about it. like the art is not finish, it's continue and evolve with our experiences and eyes of viewers.

like back a week ago, i wouldn't know this will be it, like i'm actually writing what normally i will just keep it for myself in my morning pages as a practice and prayer, but now i tapped in to more courage and higher intelligent to actually moving my vision into existence and it's been nothing but real blessing — extending my gratitude for ones that is resonates and ones that is simply being here witnessing quietly, thank you, thank you, thank you!

i somehow stumbled upon —  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Fata Morgana (1873) and felt like its just matched to what i want to convey:

o sweet illusions of song
that tempt me everywhere,
in the lonely fields, and the throng
of the crowded thoroughfare!

i wander and wander along,
and forever before me gleams
the shining city of song,
in the beautiful land of dreams.

for the vision to reappear

taking this last line for the vision to reappear was just hit me like: this is it, the mirage and the image of fatamorgana

feels like this isn't nostalgia, it's a living myth in motion.
a work first born in the desert, now returning through the lens of time — ripened, raw, and unpolished.

this is act iii: the return

fatamorgana was never one images, it's a mirage i walked through, a vision i couldn't touch until i lived enough to return and reappear.

fatamorgana has always been a shapeshifter
a mirage of the soul, a mirage of the Self
she was never just an artwork, she's a mirror that unfolds myth in motion

a return and remembrance, she holds the continuation ~