To sit down and contemplate the landscape. To scan the coastline with the eyes, trying to reach beyond what one can see. On drawing the coast with the gaze, geographical obstacles disappear. It is a long journey on which it is impossible to become lost; it is a question of continuing on and on until the return. A certain colour blankets everything. People, countries and continents come back and surround us. It is an unromantic landscape, in no way sublime. Our feet on the ground and a gaze that is never lost; the coast accompanies and sustains us. The light collides and bounces around as if solid; it is unable to dissolve the whole into an unrecognisable mass that excessively provokes the imagination. The coast is a first horizon that breaks the continuity of the next.

In front of it, the sea; just behind, the mountain. Green is grey and brown is a bluish colour. Beneath, the white houses (some worse for wear and others less so) line up in geometric blocks that structure the landscape. There are more trees than one could possibly foresee. The wind blows and they all move at the same time in a frenetic but perfect rhythm. In syncopation, they lean to one side and gently return to the other. Not a murmur is heard. Only the sounds of the sea and the wind merge together.