By: Luisa Deguile
Temptation of touch. As often happens, under the illusion that other forces are what lead us beyond our own will…
Thus, curiosity, hunger that could well explain the furtive way of capturing, paints a different force, one as determined by Physics: yes, emerging from emptiness. In such a way that our side, that of the spectator, I say, is offered promptly to the particular character and circumstances of each one. To fill the emptiness.
The position is granted to us at the very edge of the shadow from which we stalk.
In any case, safe: are the ones who are naked.
But Neil Craver makes us participants of something else…
Let’s go back to the substance:
Liquid, density well given to light playing. Each accident: waves, shadows of particles, reflections, refraction, affects not only the image but the entire sensitive body.
The dance –more than just the dancers– is enriched with sparkles and reflections; the space acquires character not only by depth or density, but by the variety with which it transcends, section by section, the condition of canvas. It represents in each one a stage, if you like, in the altarpiece: a challenge to the notion of linear time. So we are witnessing something different than a suspended time performance; perhaps the coagulation of time in matter, lights and shadows.
The intention of provoking more senses. The skin…
The time on our side, outside of the picture, marches to a different rhythm. Another pulse. It depends on how we react by evoking physical contact with liquid matter. Impression influences by the way creatures float. Its lightness also corresponds to floating in another measure: time, in contemplation.
Allusions shine to the mother’s womb. To paradise, too.
As a key that adds, also: the serenity of the faces. As a sign of their innocence. No fault; and no science.
They do not see us.
There’s more. In the rest: the environment, beyond the water. Branches, trees; the woods. In the flashes under and over the surface, the evocation of the slight noise of the waves, the echo of the foliage (although there is no more evidence of animated wildlife). The substance that sustains us, embraces us, tempting the idea of exclusivity, corresponds to the romantic ideal of motherhood: oh, mother earth…
Sound travels six times faster through water than air: Propagation.
Here, however, the rumor is not of words. It’s different. Voice of inside, of prayer, that removes the substance of luminous miracles. Perhaps, at this point, ourselves…
This is because the visions of Neil Craver imply intimacy. A lot. As a ritual. A communion.
Before us, naked, the innocence, with different faces, at the mercy of furtive capture. He delivers this to us.
The acceptance of one’s emptiness, that kind of surrender, the abandonment to be seen, would also bring about the end of hunger, our redemption.
But there are no guarantees. If we appeal to the illusion of optics, it is the profile of the observer that remains awaiting definition…
The tone of the meeting seems spontaneous in each image, on both sides: It was already said that accidents add to the effect; It is important to highlight, however: the framing itself seems to be a direct result of the circumstances of the ritual, but inside the scene. A unique opportunity every time, that does not pretend perfection.
What do we get, from so much poking about…
Do we really want to see? Do “accidents” not protect us too? With what would one and another innocent girl come to if we leave the shadow? Why the insistence on meeting eyes of the other, in overcoming “the interference”, every time? What do we look for and, more importantly, where, in reality?
To touch ourselves…
(Translation by Isabella Farrell)