‘An ocean acts as threshold and substance: if violet, it becomes a cosmic fluid that absorbs, transfigures, and carries. If infused with iris, it becomes Vision. Return. Origin. A different dimension, where every image beats with secret. The violet ocean holds the depth of a primordial womb because it welcomes, enfolds, and shapes. The laws of physics, of narrative logic, of reality as convention dissolve into the current of this dark sea with purple reflections: everything floats, everything vibrates. WATER AS ABSOLUTE PRINCIPLE. In Scriptures and in the most ancient cosmologies, water always constitutes the first element. A theme already embraced by Filippo Sorcinelli: in the Book of Genesis, the Spirit hovers over the waters, prefiguring every creation (Ruah). Water thus assumes the tone of mystery: violet, as the extreme synthesis between spirit and flesh, between impulse and contemplation. Violet holds within it the red violence of blood and the blue distance of the sky. It is the incarnation of the boundary. The violet ocean therefore offers itself as an archaic, pre-linguistic experience. A kind of celestial placenta from which consciousness is reborn, transformed. PAINTING, CINEMA, AND PERFUME IN A SINGLE RITUAL GESTURE. In the heart of the third part of Twin Peaks – The Return, the violet ocean emerges as a cosmic threshold, fluid and luminous. A sea without defined limits. An expanse vibrating with purple and mystery. David Lynch presents it as womb of pure consciousness, origin of being, and dissolution of identity. In that landscape, time expands. Reality renounces its linearity. Man drifts in a liquid universe, crossing a sea of violet light to be reborn elsewhere. Cooper does not enter it to lose himself, but to access a wider truth. In that expanse, no boundaries exist: every figure merges and every sound becomes body. Matter itself appears as symbol. This ocean precedes every word. It exists as pure vibration and presents itself as an archetypal image of transformation. THE SEA AS SKY IN PAINTING. THE SEA IN THE FLESH OF COLOR. In 1993, Filippo Sorcinelli painted two works on wood that seem born of the same frequency: a violet sky heavy with tension, a stratified sea, crossed by an inclined rectangle that suspends perspective. A scene that hosts a pictorial fragment within itself, as if the vision contained another vision. This gesture anticipated, unconsciously, the symbolic montage of Lynch. The rotated cut in the painting opens an inner time. It reveals an otherness. Filippo shaped on the panel what Lynch would later make vibrate on screen: a consciousness that crosses space, accesses mystery, and allows itself to be permeated by depth. Painting welcomes the violet sea as presence, matter ripples and color becomes flesh of vision. Every brushstroke cuts the surface with the same force with which the Lynchian ocean pierces the soul. THE PERFUME AS CONTINUATION OF PAINTING. Oceano Viola is a fragrance born of a gesture already fulfilled: it gathers the light of paintings and amplifies the vibration of Lynch’s ocean. Translating that vision into scent, into subtle presence, the fragrance preserves another existence with the dramatic patience of the iris: its rhizome, fleshy and horizontal, absorbs waiting and transforms it into aromatic memory. Years pass before its fragrance rises to the surface. And it is precisely this long gestation that grants it depth. The flower fades quickly. The rhizome, instead, endures. And it sings its silent nobility. It sings without voice, yet with the timbre of contemplative beauty. In liturgical time, iris accompanies the act of recollection. In sacred chambers, its burnt rhizomes purify air and thought. In the Middle Ages, it was kept beside altars as an aromatic bridge between earth and sky. Within its aroma coexist chastity and fire, purity and desire, discipline and vision. Art has captured its luminous contradictions: in Japanese gardens, iris suggests balance and grace; in Van Gogh’s paintings, it becomes desperate and glorious gesture, blooming in a field of questions. Iris offers a depth that both heals and unsettles. It leads toward places where interiority may germinate—without haste, without clamor—with all the strength of what rises after having long been hidden.’ – Filippo Sorcinelli
