A sound of waves that blends with secular legends and plays an ancient music, which tastes of old towns, of passion for working and for its own land. A gentle wind that accompanies the sea and also joins this melody that wants to sing a story.

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A story, waves, stacks, a tuna fishery in the background, trees that delimit the area, mountains.

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A story that narrates of peoples who lived in the village, who lived on fishing, sea and sun. Of peoples who fought so that no one would violate the enchanting beauty of their land.

Coloured waves, in which blue mixes with green and almost transparent patches that let the sun's rays pass through. Waves coloured by the marine fauna that guards the beach and inhabits the rocks on the seabed. Waves of the colour of the Sicilian sea.

Two stacks that dominate the landscape, emerging out of the water as if they were a portal that welcomes visitors and, at the same time, watches over the beach from adverse weather. Large and imposing stacks, worthy of a king of the sea’s house.

A tuna fishery that hides precious objects that one day were used for an art that made Sicily famous and rich.

Trees and mountains that complete the landscape that also forms gentle waves.

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The thing that strikes me about Sicilian landscapes is the immovability of things. It is as if you were looking at postcards every time, at photographs that, however current and alive, seem to hide something magical which wants to speak to tell how the staging was built. Photographs that never really let themselves be captured by the lens and that only those who open their heart can grasp their slow movements, characteristic noises, smells.

And I get this feeling especially when I find myself in front of the sea, a perfect representation of immovable mobility: the sea is always there, but it moves and the wave will never be able to replicate its forms in the same way because the wind always caresses it differently; the sea is always blue, but it lets itself be illuminated by the sun's rays and each time it takes on new shades; the sea is alive, fishes swim in its waters making it a large house without walls and welcoming any traveller.

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The one of Scopello sea stack is a unique photograph and it told me a story that smacks of legend:

Once, long time ago, a triton wandered the Sicilian waters in search of new species of fish that could enrich the fauna of his village. For years his town had been inhabited only by tritons, mermaids and cuttlefishes and the inhabitants ate only their "black". The triton was convinced that the sea in its vastness contained many other marine inhabitants who could share their culinary knowledge and their resources, but no one wanted to listen to him; it was in fact unthinkable to believe that there was anything other than cuttlefish ink of which the villagers had specialized in many variations and on which their entire culinary tradition was based.

After several attempts in which the triton had returned home empty-handed and where at most he had spotted selfish fish that did not want to tell him the secret of their nourishment, one day he came across new waters, dragged by a very strong icy current, which he had moved several leagues away from the waters in which he used to swim.

The triton felt frightened and disoriented: in front of him there were huge rocks that seemed to reach even above sea level; stuff beyond belief!

The triton looked at himself from all sides trying to recognize a path familiar to him among the streams, but he just couldn't find himself and he felt a great sense of loss. He began to think about how to go back, but there was no rock to show him a direction, no friendly fishes that wanted to show him a way. He then also felt angry at himself for having gone so far and he felt stupid for having believed he could have changed things, when everyone in his village had warned him that he would never find anything but the precious gold that cuttlefishes so generously give to their community and that if he will ever found something it would never be as good. He scolded himself for being presumptuous, but he knew he had to bustle if he didn't want to find himself forever wandering in search of his house and so he decided to get closer to those rocks. He thought that being so big they would have to host some form of life and maybe he would find a cuttlefish that would show him the way back. With a flick of his tail he began to climb, attracted by the water that was becoming increasingly clear; he began to spin around the sea stacks, hoping to see at least one crab inside the cracks. But getting too close at one point he felt a sharp pain at the very end of the fin and bending down he noticed a weird thorn in his body. He thought he had to remove it immediately: the inhabitants of his village would have already laughed at him for being lost, imagine if he had returned with the chipped main fin! And he felt a great desire for revenge grow within him.

But in removing the plug, he noticed that glued to the base there was a strange orange patina. He brought it closer to his face to look at it better and he touched it with the palm of his hand: it was definitely a texture he had never felt. He instinctively took it to his mouth to taste it and he felt his taste buds explode. A head-spinning flavour and a much more satisfying thickness than squid ink. He had to find more, he had to find the source of that wonderful orange.

If he had succeeded he would finally have made sense of all that researches, he could have said he was right and he would have retaliated on all the villagers who had never believed him.

He began to spin around the rocks to look for other thorns like the one that had hit him and found at least twenty "fish" that he had never seen. They were like small balls full of multi-coloured quills: some were purple, others blue, still others brilliant black. He wondered if they were these strange beings to be such good cooks.

He tried to touch one and immediately he stung himself. His cry of pain made that strange animal move: "Why are you bothering me?", that "thorny" fish said to him, "Can't you see I was sleeping?".

“Excuse me” replied the triton “I was stung by one of you a little while ago but the pain was immediately cancelled by the joy of a great discovery. Are you the ones who prepare that wonderful orange cream?". “Yes”, replied the creature “it is our job. We sea urchins are often hunted by other inhabitants of the sea like you who want to rob us our most precious treasure, the result of our effort. We have colonized these reefs and we live far from all other fish because we don't want others to take over our work. And now go and don't let yourself be seen in our sea anymore!”.

"What if we make an exchange?" the triton said to the sea urchins.