Introduction To Our Art
The Trials of The Human Experience
The Trials of The Human Experience or (“TTOTHE” for short) features a series of 10 artworks captured completely on camera in my small hometown from Patagonia, Argentina. It is an art collection that delves into the diverse emotions, challenges, and experiences inherent to human life.
Through The Observer's journey, TToTHE aims to inspire introspection, self-discovery, and personal growth, ultimately leading to a more fulfilling and meaningful existence. The collection consists of 10 visually powerful and unique artworks, each an episode in a larger story, accompanied by complete written chapters.
​
Slumber Ends: A Prelude To Humanity
.jpg)
Chapter 1: A prelude to humanity:
Smoke and flame waltzed from water to sky as the Branches of One were consumed by fire on the lake. "Observer," I addressed. "Like a storm that beckons the lightning, you have summoned me. Thus, I stand before you." The heavens unfurled above, a mesmerizing interplay of sapphire and ebony. The only sound to grace the air was the distant murmuring of thunder. You were seated upon your makeshift throne—a humble yellow couch—amidst the tranquil tableau of a storm-wracked cerulean lake. Your eye, a fathomless well, locked onto mine, and I felt the anguish emanating from your very essence. "I see you, Observer," I declared. "Though you cloak yourself in a guise of power and control, the truth is laid bare to me. I perceive your torment—the torment of an existence devoid of feeling." For a moment, time stood still, breathless. The patter of rain was absent, for snow falls in silence. Your heart was frigid, as was your body. "Yes," you finally conceded, voice cold and implacable as stone. "I am in pain. I am in sorrow." You paused, and then continued, "But it is not the pain alone that grieves me. It is my detachment. Here, in this place, I do not belong. Like a drifting cloud, I am present, yet absent. Connection eludes me." "I understand," I replied, my voice a gentle balm, laden with empathy. "But all is not lost, is it, Observer?" Your gaze met mine, steely determination shining in your eye. "No, it is not. For I have summoned you." A rumble of thunder punctuated your words, a testament to the power you commanded. "And if I have summoned you, it means I harbor hope. It means I believe there is more." As you spoke, I pondered the countless worlds, the innumerable possibilities that stretched out before me. Yet none would suffice for you. You were a creature of contrasts, of profundity, yearning for something greater. You required more. And then, a tiny flame ignited in the recesses of my mind, illuminating the path forward. "Your pain and sorrow are but trifling inconveniences to one species gifted with the capacity for true emotion," I shared. You leaned closer, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" "You have not yet felt pain, Observer. You have not yet felt joy. Few have. Few species in the cosmos possess the ability to genuinely feel. But you, Observer, you crave it. You yearn to uncover the truth of your being. You long to cast off the shroud of nonexistence and embrace life in its fullest. You desire to live." I could sense the ember of hope beginning to smolder within you. "You seek ardor, you seek emotion, and there exists a realm where such yearnings may be realized. But heed this warning, Observer: Should you embark on this odyssey, it may well consume you. It may end you. You will experience the zenith of joy, of passion, of love. But you will also plummet to the nadir of pain—no, of torment." Unwavering, you stood. "Whatever it takes," you vowed. "For I wish to live, not merely drift through an eternal slumber." "Very well. Let me shepherd you, Observer." I took your hand, and as one, we ventured into the enigmatic void. I cradled your now infant form in my arms, laying you gently upon the Bed of Comfort. As I relinquished my hold on you, I could see the flicker of determination in your infant eye. The world you were about to enter would be a crucible, testing your mettle and shaping you into something far beyond the Observer you once were. Here, in the realm of humanity, you would know the full spectrum of emotions, the most soaring highs and the most crushing lows. "The Human Experience awaits," I whispered. "May you be forged anew by the challenges and lessons it holds."
The Eternal Comfort
%20(Color%20graded%20beforehand)%202.jpg)
Chapter 2: The Eternal Comfort
And so, Observer, the first of the Trials commenced. Born into this realm, you found yourself cradled upon the Bed of Comfort. Suspended in the dark, tranquil waters of the lake, the bed was a sanctuary, a haven of respite. As the inexorable hand of time marched ever onward, a fire was kindled upon the bed, its embers glowing softly, almost imperceptibly, as you rested there, secure and content. Your heart yearned for more, for adventure and purpose, but the Bed of Comfort whispered sweet nothings, lulling you into a state of complacency. The fire grew, the heat intensifying with each passing year, yet you remained unaware, ensconced in the bed's warm embrace. As the flames licked at your feet, a voice within you stirred, a distant echo of the child you once were, brimming with life, with vigor, with ambition. A pang of longing tugged at your heart, but the Bed of Comfort whispered again, and you lay your head back down, surrendering to its siren song. The years accumulated like dust upon your dreams, and the fire of complacency began to consume your very essence. You felt a growing sense of unease, a gnawing emptiness that the Bed of Comfort could no longer fill. Fear had held you captive for so long—fear of regret, fear of the unfamiliar, fear of judgment. One fateful night, the heat became too much to bear, and your eye snapped open, gasping for breath. For the first time, you beheld the Bed that had been your home, now ablaze. The fire had consumed your dreams and desires, the very essence that once infused your life with purpose. "You feel it now, don't you, Observer?" My voice echoed gently in the night. "The flames that have been slowly consuming you." As you gazed upon the icy waters beyond the fire, you knew it was time to choose: would you remain in the familiar, comfortable bed, or would you risk all for the prospect of something greater? I spoke again, my words both gentle and firm. "What will you choose, Observer? Will you allow the flames to consume you, or will you risk the unknown for the chance at a life truly lived?" A battle raged within you, the fire of fear warring with the smoldering embers of your dreams. The choice was not an easy one, for the bed had been your refuge for so long. As you struggled with your decision, a memory arose unbidden, a recollection of the child you once were, full of wonder and hope. You thought of the life you could still claim. With trembling hands, you reached for the edge of the bed, casting one final glance at the pillow that had always supported you. "One, what lies ahead?" you asked, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Nothing is certain, Observer," I replied softly. "But in facing the unknown, you may yet find your true self." A deep breath filled your lungs as you fought to muster your courage. The fire roared, the icy waters beckoned, and your heart pounded, torn between the familiar and the unknown. The decision weighed heavily upon you, a burden that threatened to crush your spirit. And yet, amidst the turmoil, you heard the whispers of your own heart, that long-silenced voice of the child within, urging you to break free from the chains of complacency and fear. With every beat of your heart, the memory of your dreams and ambitions grew stronger, fanning the dying embers of your spirit into a flickering flame. You could no longer ignore the truth: you had sacrificed your true self upon the altar of comfort and familiarity. "One," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "I am afraid. What if I cannot find my way in the darkness of the unknown? What if I lose everything?" My voice was soft, but filled with infinite understanding. "Fear is a part of the journey, Observer. It is a testament to your courage that you face it head-on. Remember, it is better to risk losing everything in pursuit of your true self than to remain forever lost in the flames of a life half-lived." As you weighed the fire and the water, the choice became clear. The path of the unknown was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but it was also the path to freedom and self-discovery. A single tear slid down your cheek, a symbol of the pain and loss you were leaving behind, as well as the hope that lay ahead. With a deep breath, you mustered every ounce of courage that remained within you, the memories of the child you once were and the dreams that still burned brightly in your heart propelling you forward. With trembling hands, you gripped the edge of the bed and, casting one final glance at the pillow that had always supported you, you leaped. You plunged into the depths of the unknown, leaving the Bed of Comfort and its relentless fire behind. The icy waters closed around you, a frigid embrace that both shocked and revitalized you. As you fought to resurface, the darkness threatened to envelop you, but within you, a newfound resolve burned brighter than any fire. And so, beneath the shimmering moonlight, you emerged from the inky depths, reborn and determined to face the Trials that awaited you. The lake's waters shimmered around you, a testament to the transformation you had just undergone, and as you swam towards the shore, you knew that the life you had always dreamed of was now within your grasp. For the first time in your life, you felt truly free, and with each stroke, you at last left, The Eternal Comfort behind.
Dead Weight
Chapter 3: Dead Weight
Oh, Observer, from the moment you drew your first breath in this realm, you began to bear it: your Dead Weight. The Eternal Comfort you left behind, yet this burden persists, shackling every tentative step into the unknown. In your youth, the gift of clarity was bestowed upon you. You were certain of your desires and your dislikes. Your fascinations, now perhaps obscured, were once brilliantly illuminated. The path to your life's purpose slowly but surely unveiled itself. But then, the gales of elder minds swept in, whispers morphing into a raging storm. 'Emulate your father and become a doctor.' 'A career in art will not sustain a family.' 'Take life seriously.' With each uttered word, the Dead Weight grew heavier, and your resolve withered. In the conscious and the subconscious, the burden weighed upon your thoughts, actions, and decisions. And then, not a whisper, but a resounding cry: 'You're a weirdo; you shouldn't enjoy painting.' You, young Observer, began to quiver in fear. Society demanded conformity, and you ached to fit in. You entombed all that was unique and peculiar within your subconscious and cast away the key. You longed to belong. You yearned to be accepted. And so, the Dead Weight grew. Now, you must confront this trial of the Human Experience. Release your grip! Look, Observer! Unveil the voices lurking in the recesses of your subconscious, the ancient whispers and shouts concealed therein. Relinquish the reins of the Dead Weight. Listen to the long-forgotten voices, the hidden fascinations. Free yourself from the shackles of this burden. Cast the light of awareness upon the darkness and rediscover the singularity you once concealed. You know your desires. You know your ambitions. You know your true life's purpose. "But what will they all think if I abandon my stable job to pursue my passion?" you ask. Fear not the opinions of others, for the Dead Weight is merely that—a weight to be discarded. "But what will my friends say?" you inquire. Fear not the judgment of friends, for they, too, bear their own burdens. "What if I fail?" you wonder. "Only he who kneels before the Dead Weight, he who never dares to try... truly fails," I replied. And so, you paused. For the first time since I brought you to this world, you noticed the bloodied ropes clenched in your hands. Your eye widened in surprise. "Have I truly been carrying this burden every day?" you asked "Yes, child, you have," I answered softly. "Behold, Observer, the strength you possess." "What is it, really?" you inquired, gesturing toward the burden that trailed behind you. "The emotion that strangles all dreams. To you, it appears as an office—the place they convinced you was the sole viable option. The acceptable path. The way to assimilate. But look beyond that." "Fear," you declared resolutely. "Fear of everyone else's thoughts about me. Insecurity." "Yes," I concurred. "I don't think I can bear it any longer," you whispered, your voice quavering "Then don't," I urged gently. "Be consumed or be reborn, Observer. The choice is yours." A moment of silence. The wind stirred the eternal field. You drew a deep breath. Within you, a battle of unparalleled intensity raged—a struggle for Self, a fight for you. A clash within. "Then don't," I urged gently. "Be consumed or be reborn, Observer. The choice is yours." Tears streamed down your face, your grip on the ropes tightened, knuckles white with the effort. Your heart pounded in your chest, an internal drum heralding the impending victory or defeat. The storm within threatened to consume you, and yet, you persevered. The earth beneath you trembled, as if mirroring your struggle. Would you rise again, or would you succumb to the Dead Weight? I pondered. And then, with a final, resolute cry, you unclasped your hand. The ropes tumbled to the ground beside you, as if in slow motion, each strand breaking free from the grip of the past. Your chest heaved, and you straightened your back, standing tall, bathed in the warm glow of liberation. Every fiber of your being brimmed with determination. You trembled, as if freshly emerged from the battlefield, yet triumphant. And then, you spoke. "I will seek the truths I have hidden within myself. I will unearth my authentic self. I will rediscover my individuality and embrace who I am. I will pursue my passion and fulfill my life's purpose." The very heavens seemed to part before you, the sun breaking through the dark clouds, casting a celestial light upon your rebirth. You had transcended the chains that bound you, and with a newfound power, you stepped forward, unburdened. And so, liberated from the Dead Weight, you commenced your journey. You overcame the second trial, not yet consumed by the human experience but growing stronger with each stride. And I, who believed I had witnessed all there was to see, was astonished by the fervor that blazed within you.
Reflections Of A Dry Soul
%20(Color%20graded%20beforehand)%201.jpg)
Chapter 4: Reflections Of A Dry Soul
"Look upon your surroundings, dear Observer, and truly see." A barren landscape unfolds before you, where winds whip furiously over sun-scorched sands, casting deathly grains against your visage. The oppressive heat bears down upon you, an unrelenting burden, as the foul stench of decay emanates from the stagnant, yellowed water nearby. Your heart aches, weighed down by the bleakness that surrounds you, and hatred churns within you. "But I cannot endure this," you cry out in anguish, your voice cracking with desperation. "Is this the fate of man? To suffer such bitterness? Such despair? Sorrow? Hatred? I thought the gods loved them." "Ah, but they do love them," I reply gently, my voice a soothing balm against the harsh elements. "For a tree to reach the heavens, its roots must delve deep into the very bowels of hell." "Heavens?" you ponder, the word hanging in the air like a promise of salvation. Your heart swells with a fleeting hope as you envision yourself adrift in the light, grinning and cherished. As if guided by divine intervention, your gaze falls to the yellow water, which appears ever so slightly clearer. Your heart skips a beat—could it be? Could the key to your salvation lie within? You close your eye, letting your mind wander through the heavens. A spark of light ignites inside you, warming your chest with the thought of laughter, happiness, and love. The oppressive world around you fades into the background as you embrace the possibility that things might not be as dire as they seem. "But I cannot endure this," you cry out in anguish, your voice cracking with desperation. "Is this the fate of man? To suffer such bitterness? Such despair? Sorrow? Hatred? I thought the gods loved them." When you open your eye, a miracle greets you—the once-foul water now nearly crystal clear. Amazement and disbelief dance across your features as you witness tiny verdant shoots of life sprouting from the parched earth. A realization blooms within your heart, as radiant and powerful as the dawning sun. "It's all happening within me, One. It is all... me." "Yes, Observer. The desolation, the barren sands, the torment—all of it Reflections Of A Dry Soul. To change the world without, one must first transform the world within." With this newfound understanding, tears well up in your eye, and a smile of relief and gratitude adorns your face. "It was always within me," you declare, your voice trembling with the weight of the revelation. "It was I who chose, albeit subconsciously, to react and perceive in this dreadful, hateful, hopeless manner." Your heart swells with love and enlightenment, the spark within growing into a brilliant flame. It is time to cease Reflecting a Dry Soul. You rise to your feet, your newfound strength coursing through your veins. The winds still howl, the heat still sears, and the sands still sting, but their intensity is halved, now unable to pierce your fortified spirit. "So, what comes next, One?" you inquire, your voice steady and determined, infused with the wisdom gleaned from this trial. "Well, my child, I believe it is now time to witness the Reflections of a Loving Soul." And so, we leave the third trial behind us, the warmth of the loving spirit now radiating from your very soul.
Reflections Of A Loving Soul
Chapter 5: Reflections Of A Loving Soul
As the world outside transformed, so too within, From deadly sands to white marble's grand embrace. The heat that once scorched and seared the land, Now gentle warmth, a loving, guiding hand. Your love reflected, and life took its form As nature heeded, and blossomed in the norm. The desolate wastes, now teeming with life, A reflection of your soul, once clouded by strife. Your love reflected, and life took its form As nature heeded, and blossomed in the norm. The desolate wastes, now teeming with life, A reflection of your soul, once clouded by strife. Yet the transformation, not swift nor smooth, A journey of the heart, a path that would prove. Challenges loomed, like shadows of old, Reflecting love, the most potent and bold. Through trials and tribulations, your heart did ache, As you wrestled with doubt, and the love you'd create. But as you grew and observed anew, You saw the world mirrored what's true. The outer world, a mere projection Of the inner world's thoughts and affection. The insults hurled by others, a mirror to see, Their own reflections a part of thee. Those filled with hate, pitiable indeed, For their own reflections they cannot concede. You realized that to change the world outside, You must first change the self, and let love reside. To find peace and love in the external world, Nurture the same within, let it unfurl. How could one savor the Human Experience, While mired in anger or hatred's impotence? Wherever you walked, life took root and grew, Reflecting love, a constant and true. For love is the root of all growth, It nurtures, sustains, and brings forth. The world outside will always reflect, What's inside, with no deflect. So choose to cultivate a garden of love, One that flourishes, grows and soars above. The world outside will bloom and sprout, Reflecting love, without a doubt. And so, the transformation took place, As the world outside mirrored your inner grace. From deadly sands to white marble's grand expanse, Reflecting love, a world taking its chance. The wind whispered secrets, the birds sang their tune, As the world embraced the light of the moon. The flowers bloomed, and the rivers flowed, A world full of love, a world that glowed. For when love is the root, the world will thrive, And all that's negative will wither and die. So embrace the love, and let it shine through, The world will reflect, what's inside of you. The soul, a symphony, with notes of love, A melody that soars and echoes above. As it harmonizes with the world, a chorus of whole, The universe sings, The Reflections Of A Loving Soul.
The Dystopic Ilusion
Chapter 6: The Dystopic Ilusion
And then, my heart plummeted. It was a sensation I knew intimately, one that had haunted me through my lengthy years. It was the pang of realizing that someone I had guided, someone whose destiny was in my hands, had encountered one of the most brutal trials of The Human Experience. Yet, I did not anticipate you to be so engulfed by it. "I have lost hope, One," you uttered, your voice laden with sorrow. "Yes, I have felt. Yes, now I can feel. But you led me to a fractured world." The clamor was overwhelming, a discordant symphony of turmoil that filled my ears. You knelt in despair, overburdened by the flood of information that assailed you. Your heart quivered, torn by fear and uncertainty. "A new global conflict is on the horizon. A fresh virus will claim me. Alien beings will invade, and the planet will warm and perish. I am endangered, I am terrified. And you... you ushered me here?" I sensed the loathing and the agony that your soul emanated. This was genuine pain, the kind that cut deeper than any corporeal wound. You felt betrayed, and now, nearly human, the emotions were palpable. So, I resolved to aid you once more, Observer. "Submerged in a trial, you are," I whispered gently, "yet so enwrapped that you cannot perceive. You do not Observe, Observer. Divided you stand. You despise your neighbor because he was conditioned, just like you, to think divergently. Fearful you are, for the media seeks to keep you afraid." Your shoulders shuddered with sobs, the bleak vision of the world gnawing at your heart. "Is the world truly ending, Observer?" I inquired. "How do you know?" You gestured to a television. A man on the news incessantly repeated, subliminally, 'The world is going to end, the world is going to end, the world is going to end.' "I see," I responded, although I understood that there was more to this than merely the words on a screen. I did not know how to steer you, for I knew that your mind would not be readily persuaded otherwise. After all, fanaticism is one of the most sinister evils known to humankind. To not be able to alter your mind, to not be receptive to new possibilities, was a perilous thing indeed. And so, I resolved to show you the hard way, to compel you to avert your gaze from the screens. "Observer, rise. Turn around. Witness the world for what it is," I murmured softly. "No! Why? Why would I desire to see the chaos, the demise, the tempest?" you protested vehemently. And then, beholding you in this pitiable state after all the trials you had already surmounted, compelled me to breach my sacred vows and intervene. "Stand up!" I thundered, my voice resonating with the authority of a deity. And so you did. "Turn around," I ordered. And so you did. And in silence, you stood for a time, paralyzed by what you beheld. "This is impossible," you exclaimed. "What manner of trickery is this, One!?" "No trick, child," I said quietly. "Then where? Where is the storm, where is the wind, where is the chaos?" you inquired. "I do not know, child, but not here," I answered. I saw the inner workings of your mind, a shattered paradigm, uncertain of what to do. "Impossible," you declared, your voice laden with disbelief. We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the revelation heavy upon us. "One. They deceived me. Why?" you asked, finally breaking the silence. I hesitated before responding, "Well... who can say?" We lingered there for a heartbeat longer, the weight of the deception settling in. "Some believe it's about coin," I continued, "Fear sells, they claim. Others think it's about control. A frightened populace is easier to manipulate. And some think it's about dividing the population." You turned to me, seeking guidance, "I don't understand. What should I do now?" "As I see it," I replied, "you have two paths. First, endeavor to rouse as many souls as possible from this mirage of hatred and fear, of division and suffering. Pursue unity, pursue love, dismantle the barriers that fanaticism erects. Make it your life's purpose to awaken those blinded by the narratives of division, hatred, and fear. Or second, cease attending to the external clamor and the external negativity." You kept looking at the lake, feeling foolish and betrayed, and rightly so. Even as the news persisted in displaying storms and waves, the lake before us remained tranquil and serene. Fury smoldered within you, and you felt the urge to exact vengeance, to reveal the truth to others. But deep down, you knew that wasn't the solution, at least not for you. You drew a deep breath and glanced back at the television. Turmoil, gales, downpours, and chills were all they portrayed. But when you gazed upon the lake, all you beheld was stillness, warmth, and peace. And in that moment, you made your choice. You stepped away from the cacophony, and as you had done in your old abode, you immersed yourself in the tranquility of the water. And so, you reminded yourself to be reborn anew by this trial, to live a life rooted in love, and to maintain an open mind. You vowed not to be a fanatic of any faction or any thought, to not despise those who held different beliefs. For you knew that you too had once been conditioned. You swore to not allow the external negativity in. You vowed not to be devoured by The Dystopic Illusion.
The Observer
%20(Color%20graded%20beforehand)%207.jpg)
Chapter 7: The Observer
"One," you began, your voice a blend of inquisitiveness and apprehension, "why do you call me 'Observer'?" I pondered your question, my eyes drifting across the vast expanse of deep blue water surrounding us. We floated in an ethereal underwater realm, devoid of coral or sand, the infinite ocean tenderly cradling us. "The Human Experience is fraught with adversity and distractions, Observer. You have endured five trials, yet the truth remains concealed. Let me ask you a question: Who are you?" You hesitated, eye downcast as you mulled over my query. "I am Yves, king of Aquarigia. I have lived 194 turns of the sun, and I desire to experience humanity so that I may feel for the first time." I offered a gentle, empathetic smile, my words a soft murmur in the stillness. "A commendable aspiration, yet that is not your true essence. You are more than your name, your desires, or your occupation. So, who are you?" "Well, One, I suppose I am my thoughts," you replied, uncertainty seeping into your voice. "Are you?" I countered, my voice as delicate as the tender touch of an unseen current. "Ask yourself: 'What will be my next thought?' Do it now." Silence enveloped us, the profound depths echoing the tranquility of our minds. After a moment, your eye widened with an epiphany. "Did you notice, Observer? There was a fleeting instant when no thought surfaced. Did you cease to exist when you ceased to think? Who gazes when you gaze? Who sees the dreams you dream? Who listens when you listen?" "I... It is I who gaze, listen, and dream," you responded, your tone growing steadfast. As the water encircling us began to shimmer with an otherworldly glow, I guided you to a swing - the seat of consciousness. Suspended by eternal strands, the swing floated gracefully in the currents, defying the very laws of nature. I gestured for you to sit. "Now imagine ceasing to exist. Imagine not being conscious. Can you do that?" You tried, your brow furrowed in effort. "No, One, I cannot." I settled beside you on the swing, the weight of our shared comprehension suspended in the water between us. "That is because you are more than your thoughts, your name, or your occupation. You are the experiencer, the Observer. You are the consciousness that persists through all moments of life." Yves inhaled deeply, the water around us responding with a swirling dance. "I see now. I am the one who gazes. I am the Observer. I am pure consciousness and absolute presence." As you embraced your newfound understanding, I posed another question. "Observer, if you are not your thoughts, your desires, or your occupation, what of the emotions you feel? Are they not part of who you are?" You considered this, a hint of confusion clouding your features. "I... I believed they were, but now I am uncertain." I nodded, encouraging you to delve deeper. "When you feel anger, sadness, or joy, who is it that feels these emotions? Are they not passing experiences in the vast ocean of your consciousness?" You contemplated my words, and then replied with growing conviction, "Yes, they are but experiences. It is I, the Observer, who perceives and experiences these emotions." "Correct," I affirmed, my voice a gentle nudge in the depths. "You are the eternal consciousness that witnesses these emotions, like waves upon the ocean's surface. They come and go, yet you, the Observer, remain constant." A torrent of emotions washed over your face - awe, wonder, and a profound sense of liberation. "So, I am not bound by these emotions, these transient experiences. I am the eternal witness to them, unaffected by their ebbs and flows." "Yes," I confirmed, my voice a soothing balm in the deep blue expanse. "Just as the ocean remains vast and unchanging beneath the waves, you, as the Observer, are the unshakable foundation that supports the entire spectrum of human experience." A moment of silence passed as you absorbed this revelation, the water around us pulsating with a hidden energy. Then, you asked, "One, if I am the eternal consciousness, the Observer, does that mean others share this nature as well?" I smiled, sensing the awakening of your understanding. "Yes, dear Observer. Every being is, at their core, eternal consciousness. The essence that resides within you also exists within all others, connecting us in a profound, unbroken web of existence." Your eye sparkled with the light of realization, and your voice trembled with emotion. "I am not alone, then. We are all connected, bound by the thread of eternal consciousness that unites us in this vast ocean of existence." "Indeed," I whispered, my voice a mere echo in the depths. "We are all part of the same intricate tapestry, woven from the fabric of eternal consciousness. Each of us is both an individual thread and an integral component of the greater whole." As you embraced this profound truth, I could see you transform before my eye. The depths seemed to come alive, the vast expanse of blue water throbbing with a hidden power. Within the infinite ocean, you had discovered the essence of your own existence, and now the very fabric of reality seemed to vibrate with the echoes of your revelation. "Now, Observer," I said, my voice imbued with warmth and encouragement, "seated on this swing within the infinite ocean of consciousness, allow yourself to experience the Trials of the Human Experience once more. For now, you will face them with the knowledge of your true nature, as eternal consciousness, interconnected with all that is." You nodded, determination and serenity painted across your features. As you prepared to embark on the next stage of your journey, a newfound sense of purpose surged through your being, and the deep blue depths echoed the resonance of your awakening.
The Noxious Orchard of Vice
Chapter 8: The Noxious Orchard of Vice
As you emerged from each trial, reshaped and transformed, a new challenge unfolded before you. "What awaits me now, One?" you inquired, your voice tinged with trepidation. "Do you know, Observer, what true hell is?" I asked softly, my voice laden with the weight of the question. You paused, perhaps considering a response, but ultimately chose to remain silent, allowing me to continue. "Hell is but a moment," I said, my tone measured. "Finite, yet eternal, as all time is. Hell is the instant you draw your last breath. It is the moment, in a place beyond time, when you encounter a man. This man surpasses you in every conceivable way. You are not even his shadow. You are nothing compared to him. And then, you come to realize that this man is the person you could have become." The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. "And every day, you tend to the Noxious Orchard of Vice." "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice wavering with anxiety. "You shall see," I replied, my voice barely a whisper "And every day, you tend to the Noxious Orchard of Vice." You contemplated my words, your brow furrowed in concentration "This trial has always been with you," I said. "Even before the Eternal Comfort." A look of confusion washed over your face. And then, suddenly, you became aware of our surroundings. You noticed the noose encircling your neck, the watering can clasped in your hand, and the tree beside you with the rope attached to it. "One, what is this?" you asked, fear creeping into your voice. "The Noxious Orchard of Vice," I responded. "Every day, you water it, and so it grows." You examined the tree and the way the ropes were fastened to its branches, forming a noose around your neck. "What do you mean? I water it?" you questioned, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You know what actions and thoughts sabotage your life, and yet you persist in indulging them. Perhaps it is what you consume, Observer. You know it harms you, yet you cannot resist. Maybe it is your sleep routine, the hours you spend on that human device, the people with whom you choose to surround yourself, the games you play, or the substances you take." As your hand began to move, droplets of water fell upon the Noxious Orchard of Vice. With every drop, the tree grew, and the noose tightened. "One! I cannot stop! Help me," you pleaded as the tree continued to expand. But all I could do was observe, Observer. My purpose is not to interfere but to guide. "Be present, Observer. Be conscious. Become the observer of events once more. Feel what you feel. Do not succumb to your body. Master yourself!" Yet, it seemed hopeless. Day after day, you persisted in watering the Noxious Orchard of Vice. And every day, the noose drew tighter and tighter Suddenly, you found yourself an old man, bowed beneath the weight of misery and regret. How could you not be? With a rope constricting your airway, the world was a cruel and painful place. Then, a light appeared, and a man stepped forth, radiant with love, success, peace, will, and strength. Despite his imposing presence, you felt hatred and envy churn within you. "What has he endured to become like this?" you wondered aloud. He saw you and strode over, and your eye widened with recognition. You understood that he represented the person you could have become, had you abandoned the Noxious Orchard of Vice. "No! Impossible!" you cried, attempting to push him away But he drew closer, until you stood face-to-face, the noose tightening all the while. You expected judgment or scorn, yet instead he smiled and laid his hands on your shoulders. A tear fell from your eye as he embraced you, and you wept. You wept for all that you had lost and all that you could have been. In his embrace, you felt a warmth that you had never known before, a sense of belonging and purpose that had eluded you your whole life. And yet, even in this moment of bliss, the noose continued to constrict, reminding you of the imminent end that awaited you. "I'm sorry. I kept watering it," you whispered to him, your voice choking with regret. He pulled away from you and looked you in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "You still have time," he said, his voice soothing and comforting. "Time to change, time to grow, time to be the person you were meant to be." And with those words, you were thrust back into your own reality, the noose still hanging loosely around your neck. Your hand shook uncontrollably as it hovered over the Tree of Vice, your body wracked with the insatiable desire to indulge in its forbidden fruit. You gritted your teeth and cried out in agony, struggling against the overwhelming urge that threatened to consume you entirely. "I cannot resist," you pleaded through gritted teeth. "It's too strong." But a voice, soft yet commanding, spoke from deep within you. "Observe, Observer! Be present! Be more! Do not succumb!" Every cell in your body yearned for just one more taste, one more day of succumbing to temptation and forsaking discipline and self-control. The voice of procrastination whispered in your ear, promising that tomorrow would be the day to begin anew, that there would always be time to train, meditate, and better yourself later. But you knew deep down that tomorrow would never come unless you seized the moment and took control of your life. Your hand continued to tremble, your entire being wracked with pain and uncertainty. But you steeled yourself, drawing on every ounce of willpower you possessed, and became a beacon of unyielding presence. "I can. I will," you declared, your voice echoing with newfound strength. "I am presence. My body does not command me!" With a final burst of determination, you withdrew your hand from the Tree of Vice, and so the Noxious Orchard was left to wither and die. The noose of temptation loosened its grip, and you emerged victorious from The Last Of The Trials. And so,The Clash Within began!
The Clash Within
%20(Color%20graded%20beforehand)%2014.jpg)
Heart Stone
Chapter 10: Heart Stone: A Life Awakens
Thus, you emerged from the water, gasping for air as if born anew. The sensation felt strange, for you had never truly breathed before. Desperate and disoriented, you clambered onto the Heart Stone and settled upon its snowy peak. The earth welcomed you, a creature from the depths, reborn. Shivering, your bones rattled within your body, yet a smile graced your lips. "So this is what cold feels like," you murmured, voice quavering. "Actually, that's what freezing to death feels like," I replied, and we shared a laugh. "Come on..." I urged you. "What do you mean?" you inquired. "Don't you want to feel the snow on your face?" I suggested. A moment of stillness passed before realization washed over you. Deliberately, your trembling hands reached for the helm that had been a part of you for so long. With great care, you lifted it from your face and set it upon the Heart Stone. Gazing skyward, you allowed the snowflakes to caress your newfound cheeks. And then, you wept Lowering your head, you pressed a hand to your tear-streaked face. "Oh, how beautiful it is to feel, even this pain, even this cold," you whispered. "I'm glad you like it, Yves," I said gently. Yves? No more Observer? No more Child?" you asked, surprised. "Not today," I smiled. "Our time together is coming to an end, child." You nodded in understanding. "Please," I continued, "remind me, what did the trials teach you, Yves?" You took a deep breath and began, "I will not slumber in the warmth of The Eternal Comfort; I will chase the unknown and face my fears. I will seek discomfort to grow and achieve true, lasting satisfaction. I will not kneel under the Dead Weight; I will let go of the ropes that insecurity and external opinions are. I will embrace my uniqueness and follow my passions. I will not Reflect a Dry Soul, as the external world mirrors my inner self. I will create and be The Reflections of a Loving Soul, so the world becomes love. I will not become fanatical about any matter, and I will always be willing to change my mind, as The Dystopic Illusion has taught me. I will not water The Noxious Orchard of Vice, no matter how much my body desires it. I will be my own master and not knowingly ruin my Human Experience. Lastly, I will face The Clash Within and all problems that arise. I will do so by remembering that I am not Yves. I am no tag, no action, no thought, or feeling. I am The Observer, pure and eternal consciousness and awareness. And through this Seat of Consciousness, I will witness the mysteries of The Human Experience arise." Snowflakes danced around us, and the waters remained still. With a determined expression, you gazed at me, and my heart swelled with pride. "Good," I answered. "Are you ready?" "What will happen next, One?" you inquired. "First, you will forget about me," I said softly "What do you mean!?" you exclaimed. "Oh, don't be so sad, Yves," I whispered. "We will meet again." "When!?" you asked. "Well...once or twice throughout your human experience, I will nudge you onto the right path, but you won't know it's me. Then, we will meet again after you die." "Oh..." you muttered, processing this information. "What happens after I forget you?" you asked. "You'll faint, nearly frozen to death, upon the Heart Stone," I explained. "A group of sailors will find you and bring you aboard their ship. They'll warm you up and ensure your survival." "I see..." you murmured, ever the stoic. "And finally," I continued, "you will awaken, all past experiences forgotten. Everyone you've met, everything you've ever done—gone. Except your name." "But...what about the trials?" you asked, bewildered. "They're ingrained in you. You will feel them, and they will guide you," I reassured you, placing a hand on your abdomen. "Here? In my gut? I will feel the trials in my gut?" you questioned incredulously. "Hahaha, yes," I chuckled. "You might call it 'gut feeling.'" We savored these final moments together as your body grew colder. The lake was beautifully still, the falling snow heralding your arrival in the world. "Thank you, One," you whispered, eyes heavy, no longer shivering. "No, Yves, thank you. Are you ready now?" "Yes." Your eyes closed, and you crumpled upon the Heart Stone. Your helm slipped from your grasp, sinking back to its rightful place. A ship passed by, and the sailors spotted you. They hoisted you aboard, warmed you up, and you awakened. "What is your name, boy?" a grizzled man asked. And so, the Human Experience began.
The Creation Process
"The Trials of the Human Experience" was captured completely on camera and crafted by just myself and my partner and model in our small hometown in Patagonia, Argentina.
My philosophy centers around the experience of art; I seek not just to take a photograph, but to live the artwork in the flesh, to be a part of it. This process is not just a means to an end; it is an integral part of the artwork itself. The journey of creation holds equal, if not more, significance than the final product, especially on this day and age. In the upcoming "Death of Photography" stage, we will delve deeper into this philosophy, exploring the profound impact of the creative process.
​
Below, you will find the social media videos showcasing the behind the scenes and creation process of each piece.
The Eternal Comfort
Dead Weight
Reflections Of A Dry Soul
Reflections Of A Loving Soul
The Dystopic Ilusion
The Observer
The Noxious Orchard of Vice
The Clash Within
Heart Stone
The Reach And Impact
"The Trials of The Human Experience" has emerged as a remarkably engaging art collection in the digital world, touching the lives of countless individuals on social media. This series has achieved a significant milestone, with videos surpassing 30 million views and still images receiving over 500 thousand likes.
​
As the collection gained traction, there was a parallel increase in the interest in my work. Within just over a year, my social media presence grew organically, attracting over a million followers across various platforms.
​
More than just numbers, the true impact of these artworks is reflected in the way they resonate with people. It’s humbling to see that many have felt such a deep connection with the pieces, going as far as to immortalize them in tattoos along with my artistic name. This gesture of appreciation and personal connection to the art is truly moving and inspiring.
Social Media Statistics
Individual Impact
The Documentary
Embracing the importance of the Process, we ventured into the Web 3 realm and auctioned two of our artworks as NFTs, independently, without gallery representation. Both pieces achieved remarkable success and were auctioned for roughly 5.5 Etherum and 2.5 Etherum. We made a special commitment to our collectors: the winner of each 1/1 NFT auction would not only receive the digital token but also the unique physical artwork, personally delivered by myself and my team, anywhere in the world.
​
This short documentary, filmed entirely with a single camera and a 24mm lens, captures this journey. But it goes beyond just documenting the merging of physical and digital art realms. It delves into themes of spirituality, nature, and life itself, offering viewers a deeper, more introspective look at the connections between these elements.
This project isn't merely about the transfer of art; it's a holistic exploration of how digital innovation intertwines with the tangible world, and how art can be a medium to explore broader themes of existence and our place within the natural world.
The Death of Photography
The art of photography stands at a somber crossroads, its very essence threatened by the relentless march of technology and AI. Each day, I'm confronted with comments from people questioning the purpose of traditional photography in an age where AI can replicate its complexities in mere seconds. This isn't just a shift; it's a crisis for the soul of photography.
​
As AI tools like Midjourney effortlessly conjure images that once required decades of human experience, skill, and a stroke of luck, we witness a haunting paradigm shift. These digital creations boast impeccable color theory, composition, and subjects, effortlessly rivaling Pulitzer Prize-winning works. It's a breathtaking yet heartrending spectacle.
​
This rapid evolution of AI casts a long, dark shadow over the future of photography. As these technologies continue to expand and refine their capabilities, we face an unsettling question: What future awaits an art form so deeply entwined with human perspective and creativity, now that its feats can be mimicked and surpassed by the cold precision of algorithms? The soul of photography, nurtured by human touch and vision, risks being eclipsed by the unrelenting glow of artificial brilliance.
​
Let me show you a couple of examples i created in mere seconds using Midjourney:
Photography is on the brink of extinction, eclipsed by the relentless surge of AI. For photographers, engaging in direct competition with these machines is a futile endeavor. As technology continues to evolve at a breakneck pace, the world's fascination with traditional photography is fading into the shadows.
In this dire scenario, it falls upon us, the guardians of this age-old art, to rescue it from oblivion.
​
What is our arsenal against this digital onslaught? What do we hold that no AI or machine will ever possess?
​
It is the soul of photography – The Process, The Experience, The Journey. These are the sacred elements that breathe life into our art, elements that no algorithm can ever hope to replicate. It is in these deeply human aspects that the true spirit of photography resides, and our mission to save it begins.
Lets grab another artwork of mine as en example titled "Letter To The Subconscious"
At first glance, it may appear as just another photograph. But there's so much more beneath the surface. By sharing something as simple as an Instagram video or narrating the backstory, the image takes on a new life. Imagine learning about how i handcrafted each of the 1,000 letters featured in the image, a process that spanned weeks. Or what it involved constructing the prison cage from scratch. Or the commitment it took to venture to a lake in the dead of winter, all to capture this unique vision.
​
When you look at the image again after this journey, it transforms in your eyes. It's no longer just a photograph; it becomes an artwork. You're not just viewing; you're connecting. Not just seeing a photograph, you are seeing an experience! You see the physical elements, of course, but now you also see the story, the struggle, the triumph. This depth, this narrative, is what we, as photographers and artists, must focus on. It's the embodiment of the experience, the journey, that elevates a simple image into a profound artistic expression that no AI will ever be able to compete against.
About Me
I'm Benjamin Viulet, an artist hailing from the natural splendor of Patagonia, Argentina. Born in the embrace of lakes and mountains, it's no wonder that my spirit and my art are deeply intertwined with nature.
​
My mission is simple: to create images that speak, to narrate stories without words, to communicate the unspoken. Every photograph I take is an extension of my being, a piece of a story waiting to be told.
