Sebastian Vergara – Vigilia
Sebastian Vergara
“Vigilia”
Let the sounds speak, it seems to suggest; sounds do not speak, it replies, they simply present themselves in their purest state. Forms break, disintegrate, and approach a point where, up close, everything begins to feel distant. “I have nothing to say, and I am saying it, and that is poetry” (Cage), it insists once more. Vigil could also be the dream of a dormant, heavy hand falling into randomness, only to emerge light and fragile amid the stillness of the elements. Who speaks and who answers becomes an unfolding idea in a game: being both fish and bait, imagining an event that never arrives, that roams freely, interpreting the depths and the abyss as it teeters on the edge of falling.
Before the body submerges: inhale, swell, inspire. Music is perhaps a language in which images and sounds drift—a deep well of the mind, of time and sequence, creating only what music itself can construct. On the surface, tiny fish; in the depths, the golden fish (Lynch). To break the restricted circle, to conquer infinite variety (Russolo), to dive deep to recover fragments—small images attempting to reconstruct a night, a possible space where the vast and the intimate transform into symbols, into abstraction rooted in instinct and the promise of translating depth.
The sounds in vigil fall onto the surface, explode over the water, traverse spatial volumes, transgress contours and textures, pierce the eardrum, and reveal an unreal landscape—an uninhabited atmosphere, an impassable, inhospitable night that is at once sensual, erotic, and veiled. The sounds and their vigil tremble on the surface of the water, attempting to sustain the impossible: images that help us understand the world—or perhaps just our own world—in its vastness, inscrutability, strangeness, and mystery.
In the depths of vigil lie the means to construct intimacy and emotion, the methods of understanding that bring balance and coherence to desire and the forms that exceed it. In this imbalance—between the murky, abyssal middle ground—new languages begin to emerge: textures, frequencies, forms, and deformations capable of disrupting the uniformity of water, the liquid metaphor that envisions the unpredictable, the invention of an abstract sound—intangible, impossible to stop or destroy.
In vigil, scattered without order or rule, sounds unfold with free will, coexisting with other equally complex forms that, in their recognition, articulate an elusive difference—neither immediate, visible, nor objectifiable. In the depths of vigil, sounds create their own strategies and lay the foundation for their reinterpretation: they mobilize change, challenge order, and construct intimacy. In the abyssal vigil lie sounds that die into silence, unprecedented in their form, depth, and amplitude, only to resurface later, just as the sun begins to rise—unexpected, unpredictable, and, above all, pristine on the surface of the unknown.
Carrie White Burns in Hell
