Description
The Crossing
Conceptual photographic sculpture
October 2023 | Variable dimensions
The bronze weighed its weight of eternal condemnation, muscles taut on bent back under effort, arms pushing chromium sphere that reflected world in mercurial curves, and Sisyphus advanced centimeter by centimeter on this metal beam suspended in void, precarious balance between falling and progress, but for the first time since gods had condemned him three thousand years ago something was changing – at beam’s end shone intense white light, possible exit, horizon of freedom, imaginable end to endless punishment.
Albert Camus had written in nineteen forty-two that one must imagine Sisyphus happy, that absurdity itself of his task made it noble, that struggle toward peaks sufficed to fill man’s heart, philosophical stoicism that transformed torture into dignity, but Camus had never pushed boulder himself for eternity, and me in October twenty twenty-three sixty years twenty-two years in France I proposed different version, not happiness in absurdity but hope for escape, not resigned acceptance but real possibility that nightmare finally ended.
Sculpture captured this moment of tipping point where ancient myth met new promise, Sisyphus no longer pushed toward mountain peak from which boulder would inevitably fall back, he crossed toward light, crucial word in title, crossing implies starting point and arrival point, implies one can actually get somewhere, that effort is not vain circular repetitive but linear progressive leading toward attainable goal, conceptual revolution that changed entire meaning of myth.
October twenty twenty-three and this autobiographical image cried without crying, twenty-two years I had pushed my artistic boulder in France, twenty-two years of stubborn creation without major institutional recognition, and how many times I had thought of Sisyphus during these years, how many times I had felt weight of rejection fall back on me after each attempt to exhibit to sell to make myself known, how many times I had started over from zero after each failure, and now at sixty I sculpted this possibility that maybe light really existed, that maybe continuous effort finally led somewhere.
Chromium sphere replaced rough boulder of original myth, reflective surface that captured world around, and this substitution transformed burden into mirror, Sisyphus no longer pushed just dead weight but surface that reflected his own image and universe’s, alchemical metamorphosis of lead into silver, and maybe that was secret, maybe boulder became lighter when one understood it contained all world’s beauty, that effort itself was treasure not hypothetical reward at peak.
Narrow beam on which he advanced spoke of difficult balance required, not just brute force but also precision concentration, one wrong move and everything fell into gray void surrounding scene, and this precariousness represented artist’s life exactly, always on wire between creation and collapse, between continuing and giving up, between faith and despair, walking on invisible beam without safety net while world looked elsewhere or applauded more spectacular acrobats.
Light at end transformed punishment into initiation, Sisyphus became hero of initiatory journey, mandatory passage through ordeal toward final illumination, and all esoteric traditions spoke of this, dark night of soul one had to traverse before dawn, desert where one wandered forty years before promised land, Labors of Hercules that seemed impossible but led to apotheosis, and maybe my own twenty-two year crossing in France was exactly that, necessary learning purification through failure preparation for something that might come now that I was sixty and light was beginning to break through.
October twenty twenty-three, Covid pandemic behind us Ukraine war that continued climate that worsened, global apocalyptic context, and yet this sculpture proclaimed hope, not naive optimism but mature hope that knew harshness of reality and still chose to believe light existed, faith against evidence, artistic Pascal’s wager, and if I was wrong if light was just mirage if I reached beam’s end and found just more void, at least I would have crossed with this hope that had kept me standing.
Muscular powerful body of Sisyphus testified to years of effort, one did not develop these muscles pushing for few days but for decades, and this musculature was my secret pride, twenty-two years had made me strong not physically but psychologically, I had developed mental muscles capable of bearing rejection indifference doubt, I had become athlete of perseverance champion of obstinacy, gold medal at Olympic Games of artistic tenacity, and even if no one recognized this discipline I knew I had run complete marathon without giving up.
The Crossing October twenty twenty-three, simple title that summed everything, and I looked at this sculpture I had created – or photographed or digitally composed it mattered not – and I spoke to myself through it, message of encouragement from old me to younger me, promise that yes light existed, that yes effort was worth it, that yes Sisyphus would reach beam’s end and enter this white clarity that patiently awaited him from beginning, and maybe gods who had condemned him would finally realize their mistake, that eternal punishment was unjust disproportionate cruel, and they would say come Sisyphus you have suffered enough, put down your burden enter light rest at last, and Sisyphus would hesitate because after so many years of pushing he would not know how to do anything else, but finally he would let go chromium sphere that would roll by itself into void, and he would walk these final meters without weight on shoulders, light as he had never been, and light would envelop absorb dissolve him in its absolute whiteness, The Crossing completed mission accomplished twenty-two years of France sixty years of life resulting in simple realization that hope itself was light, that believing it existed at beam’s end sufficed to make it exist, self-fulfilling prophecy, and as long as I continued advancing toward it it would continue shining before me, October twenty twenty-three The Crossing forever.
Cornel Barsan
October 2023
