"He crouched in the spray and he waited all day

 till the sun gave way to the moon, 

and his legs grew cold and he grew old

and wrinkled like a prune.

And the years rolled by and the surf broke high

and the 40–foot breakers sprayed. 

But he sneered at ’em all, sayin’, 'Too damn small; 

I’m waitin’ for the perfect wave.

Shel Silverstein

Perhaps current image overload is a vast groundless sea where one is immediately usurped into ebbs, flows, and tides. Even with a head above water, breathing, stopping, surfacing and predicting its undulating shape and pulsing rhythms, one cannot forecast its strength and precarity. When will it peak, when will it break, when will it submerge its subject? Can one surf its waters masterfully or is the mastery in staying fluid and aware of the sublime.

Alex, is calmly waiting for a swell, positioning himself perfectly between the oncoming troughs and peaks.  Aligning with the movements of the water, he becomes human, becomes animal, becomes calm, and becomes the sea; similar to captain Ahab's Becoming-Whale. He knows, under the crest of every wave, danger, an effervescent catapulting force, is driving continuous excellent action. A whale boy out of water, simultaneously displaced in an imaginary ocean of information and images, dreams of catching a perfect wave of acceptance and understanding.