Curiosities

The Word: From Incantation to Influence

Gianni Sarcone

In the beginning, whether real or invented, certain words—many from a distant past—formed a bridge between humans and the great Mystery. One such word that survived the ages, still cloaked in a strange aura of power, is Abracadabra. Even today, magicians use it to conjure effect, echoing its ancient weight.

Originally, Abracadabra wasn’t just theatrical. It was an apotropaic charm—spoken or inscribed to ward off harm. The earliest record, from the 2nd century CE in a medical treatise by Serenus Sammonicus, describes it as a remedy for fever. Written in a tapering triangle, the word visually dissolved with each line, symbolizing the illness retreating. Its origins are uncertain. Some link it to Aramaic or Hebrew—“I create as I speak” (אברא כדברא). Others see it as a coded sequence from the Greek alphabet (ΑΒΓΔ), or a variant of another potent name: Abraxas.

An incantation born of another—what a journey through a world woven in magic.

Abraxas (Greek: ἀβραξάς), central to the Gnostic teachings of Basilides, named a powerful being ruling over 365 heavens. Engraved on amulets, Abraxas was thought to hold innate power. These stones, often cited in magical texts, show a belief system where sound and symbol merged—where the right word could invoke protection, healing, or cosmic order. Its earlier spelling, Abrasax, likely morphed through transliteration. With seven letters, the name was also tied to the seven classical planets, deepening its cosmic charge. Whatever its true roots, one idea persists: properly arranged, words carry force.

Across time, this belief shifted but never vanished. Ancient incantations gave way to new forms of verbal power.

Antiphon of Athens (5th century BCE) stripped speech of ritual but kept its essence. Considered a forerunner of psychotherapy, he used dialogue to ease emotional suffering. His method wasn’t mystical—it was precise, rooted in rhetoric and clarity. Where once words summoned the divine, now they served insight and balance.

Language, even without the trappings of magic, remains transformative. In the 20th century, thinkers like Paul Watzlawick showed how communication doesn’t just reflect our world—it shapes it. A change in phrasing can shift perception. A word can open or close a mind.

From Abraxas to Abracadabra, from spell to speech, the thread continues: words influence, connect, heal. What began as incantation lives on as conversation—still crafting reality, still carrying power.

The Interrogation Mark: From Greek Semicolons to Spanish Twists

Gianni Sarcone

In ancient Greek, questions were marked by a semicolon (Ερωτηματικό) rather than a question mark. This practice faded over time, and no special punctuation indicated questions in antiquity. The modern question mark emerged in the Middle Ages when scribes used “qo” (from Latin quaestio). To avoid confusion, they stacked the letters, turning the Q into a curl and the O into a dot, creating the question mark (“?”). In Spanish, the question mark was placed only at the end until 1754, when the Ortografía de la Real Academia introduced the inverted opening question mark (¿), as in: ¿Qué edad tienes? (How old are you?).

The Silent Orbit of Thought

Gianni Sarcone

The circle, a timeless symbol of wholeness, is found at the core of human thought. In the West, it evokes the Pythagorean harmony of the cosmos, the eternal return of Nietzsche, the indivisible unity of Being. A form without beginning or end, it embodies the perfect balance between presence and absence, the finite and the infinite.
In Eastern traditions, the ensō (円相)—literally “circular form”—is a distilled gesture of perception, a visual echo of clarity. Not merely a shape, but an experience, it is drawn in a single stroke, capturing the ephemeral moment where thought and movement dissolve into pure expression. It is said that the earliest Zen painting was an ensō, traced to offer a student something tangible yet elusive, a paradox to ponder.
A circle can be brushed on paper, traced in sand, drawn on a misted window, or merely imagined. It lacks nothing, needs nothing, yet contains all things. In its quiet completeness, it is not an answer, but an opening—an invitation to see beyond the limits of form.

Umbrella Illusion

Gianni Sarcone

One of my illusions from the late ’90s. Take a look at the colorful umbrellas in Figures A and B of the table below—are they the same or different? About 80% of people will say that Umbrella A has jagged, zigzag edges, while Umbrella B has a smooth, wavy outline. But here’s the trick—you’ve been fooled by the brightness contrast of the rays inside the umbrellas. In reality, both umbrellas are identical in shape, perfectly congruent.

This illusion works even when only the lines of the shapes are emphasized. As demonstrated in the table below, the outline of Umbrella A appears jagged and zigzagged, while Umbrella B seems to have, once again, a smooth, wavy outline.

This illusion shows a phenomenon called curvature blindness, which was rediscovered in 2017 by Japanese psychologist Kohske Takahashi. He created a powerful variant and studied its impact on how we perceive shapes.

© Kohske Takahashi – The wavy lines appear different depending on the background and how the repetitive dark color is applied to them.

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The Soul of Books: A Journey from Bark to Pages

Gianni Sarcone

I must have been born in a library, for the love I hold for books is immeasurable. A book awakens all the senses in me: the visual pleasure, the tactile warmth, the scent of cinnamon or vanilla from old pages, the soft rustle of turning leaves, and even the taste… To me, no digital book will ever replace the presence of a real one, with its soul and essence.

But the journey from tablet to scroll, to codex, and finally to the modern book spans millennia. The codex, the direct ancestor of today’s book, introduced a revolutionary format—pages bound along one edge—laying the foundation for how we read and store knowledge today.

Books, as we recognize them, became widespread during the Middle Ages, largely due to Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press. However, the codex itself dates back much further. It was made of sheets folded multiple times, often twice, to form a bifolio. These bifolia were sewn together into gatherings, allowing for binding and, when needed, rebinding. The most common structure consisted of four bifolia—eight sheets, totaling sixteen pages—known in Latin as quaternio. This term later gave rise to quaderno in Italian, cahier in French, and quire in English. Interestingly, the Latin word codex originally meant a block of wood, a nod to the materials once used for writing.

Even the word book has deep roots—its Old English form, bōc, likely stems from the Germanic root bōk-, meaning beech. This isn’t just a linguistic coincidence; early writings may have been carved into beech wood. In Slavic languages, the word for “letter,” буква (bukva), shares this origin. In Russian, Serbian, and Macedonian, букварь (bukvar’) or буквар (bukvar) refers to a child’s first reading textbook.

Similarly, the Latin word liber, which gave rise to libro in Italian and livre in French, originally meant “bark,” reinforcing the deep connection between books and trees. The Greek root biblio, is believed to be derived from βύβλος (búblos), meaning “papyrus,” named after the ancient Phoenician city of Byblos, a major hub of the papyrus trade.

From carved wood and tree bark to bound pages and printed volumes, books have always been deeply rooted in nature—both in language and in form.

Sphere of Influence of Our Ego

Gianni Sarcone

Imperialism is not limited to a group or a country. In fact, each of us is, in essence, an imperialist, striving—whether subtly or forcefully, skillfully or clumsily—to expand his / her sphere of influence in the world. The methods we employ vary from person to person: some are conciliators, while others are more combative.
When I was 25, I empirically explored how these spheres of influence, which I termed ECFs, interacted between two individuals. To make the concept understandable, I employed the metaphor of colors. This brief is discussed in my book, “Le Voile d’Iris” (French edition, see image below). Perhaps one day, I will revisit this study to develop it into something more rigorous.

The ‘Sassy Sparkler’ Sea Worm: Nature’s Deep-Sea Light Show

Gianni Sarcone

While exploring the Chile Margin along South America’s coastline, researchers made a dazzling discovery with their robotic explorer, ROV SuBastian: the iridescent ‘sassy sparkler‘ sea worm.

At first glance, this deep-sea polychaete worm appears unremarkable with its bristly body. But as it moves, its shimmering bristles reflect light, creating a pink iridescent glow. The secret lies in nanoscale structures within the bristles that act like prisms, scattering light to produce shifting colors depending on the angle of view.

This optical illusion not only mesmerizes but also serves practical purposes. The worm’s changing hues help with camouflage, communication, and UV protection in the deep ocean.

Polychaetes like the ‘sassy sparkler’ play essential roles in marine ecosystems, thriving in extreme environments like hydrothermal vents and contributing to nutrient cycling in ocean depths.

Apparition: The Face That Transforms

Gianni Sarcone

I’m pleased to announce that my work Apparition will be featured in the 6th volume of Taschen’s Library of Esoterica, set to release in early 2025.

This portrait, created by combining photographs of 50 different human faces, presents a ghostly image that endlessly shifts its features as you look at it. The effect is driven by the neural adaptation phenomenon, similar to Troxler fading, along with the brain’s face-recognition circuits, which complete the image.

You can explore this piece and more with prints available from my online gallery.

For a deeper dive, visit Spirit Worlds here to explore art, rituals, and myths from hidden realms.

Van Gogh and the Path to Abstraction

Gianni Sarcone

In the painting La Maison Blanche, la Nuit (1890), Vincent van Gogh’s vivid brushstrokes, layered over background hues, give the artwork a surreal dimension. His late works are marked by these expressive strokes, almost like vectors of the soul, stirring and expanding the space within his compositions.

La Maison Blanche, la Nuit, 1890, Vincent van Gogh, in the Hermitage Museum.

Had Van Gogh shifted toward a greater focus on minimalist expression rather than detailed representation, his work might have evolved in a more abstract direction. This evolution could have shared similarities with pioneers like Kandinsky and Mondrian, particularly in their use of pure form and color. However, Van Gogh’s distinct style would have likely led him toward a more organic abstraction, where his vibrant palette could have become swirling, interlacing forms—creating a dynamic sense of color and movement that might have hinted at the future development of Abstract Expressionism.