Science

The Cube That Lies

Gianni Sarcone

I’ve always been drawn to the architecture of geometry. The hexagon, with its quiet strength and symmetry, sits at the root of so many spatial illusions—it’s the seed of cubes, isometric grids, and 3D paradoxes. From this shape, I began exploring structures that bend logic and perception, eventually giving life to a trio of optical works: Enigma 1, Enigma 2, and Enigma 3.

enigma 1
Enigma 1 – Prints & T-shirts.
enigma 2
Enigma 2 – Prints & T-shirts.
enigma 2
Enigma 3 – Prints & T-shirts.

Each piece is built around the visual tension of the impossible cube, created by merging two tribars in perfect isometric perspective. The lines suggest solidity, yet the form escapes reality—what looks structurally sound unravels the moment the eye tries to make sense of it. That’s the game I love to play: where geometry behaves, but perception rebels.

These “Enigmas” are spatial riddles dressed in stripes and angles, each one twisting the viewer’s reading of depth, volume, and continuity in its own way.

Enigma 1 – Prints & T-shirts.
Enigma 2 – Prints & T-shirts.
Enigma 3 – Prints & T-shirts.

Glittering Eyes of the Night

Gianni Sarcone

The ‘glitter’ you see on this wolf spider comes from the eyes of the babies she carries on her abdomen. Like cats, owls, and other nocturnal hunters, wolf spiders possess a reflective layer behind their retinas called a “tapetum lucidum,” which amplifies even the faintest light and makes their eyes glow in the dark. This tiny adaptation turns the forest floor into a stage where predator and prey perform under the faintest moonlight.

Nature often converges on similar solutions, weaving common threads through vastly different lives. It’s fascinating to think that very different species—arachnids and mammals alike—have evolved the same “superpower”: the ability to see in near darkness.

Next time you spot a tiny flash of light on a night hike, remember: a wolf spider might be staring right back, sharing with you the magic of the nocturnal world.

Smelling the Color 9: When Numbers Take Shape and Color

Gianni Sarcone

In English, the expression to smell the color 9 describes something completely impossible…

And yet, some people have the unusual ability to mentally visualize colors or spatial patterns when thinking about units of time—or more broadly, numbers. This phenomenon, known as synesthesia (from the Greek syn, “together”, and aisthēsis, “sensation”), occurs when stimulation of one sense involuntarily triggers sensations in another. It’s not a figure of speech—these perceptions feel very real to those who experience them.

The first documented case in medical literature appeared in 1710. Dr. John Thomas Woolhouse (1650–1734), an ophthalmologist to King James II of England, reported a blind young man who claimed he could perceive colors induced by sounds.

Neuroscientist Vilayanur S. Ramachandran and his team at the University of California, San Diego, observed that the most common form of synesthesia links “graphemes“—letters or numbers—to specific colors. Since my work bridges art and mathematics, I’ll focus here on number-based synesthesia.

People who experience synesthesia in its pure form are relatively few. However, many report strikingly similar associations between numbers and colors or spatial layouts, suggesting these perceptions aren’t just products of imagination or attention-seeking. For example, number–form synesthesia may result from cross-activation between brain regions in the parietal lobe that handle numerical and spatial processing. In contrast, number–color synesthesia likely stems from an overabundance of connections between adjacent areas that interfere with each other when triggered (see fig. 1 below).

brain synesthesia

Figures 2 and 3 illustrate common synesthetic patterns—either as color associations (fig. 2) or spatial arrangements (fig. 3, based on observations by Sir Francis Galton). Statistically, people often associate the digits 0 or 1—and sometimes 8 or 9—with black or white. Yellow, red, and blue are typically linked to smaller digits like 2, 3, or 4, while brown, purple, and gray tend to be tied to larger ones like 6, 7, or 8. Curiously, it’s not the idea of the number but the visual form of the digit that seems to trigger the sensation. For instance, when the number 5 is shown as the Roman numeral V, many synesthetes report no color at all.

color number synesthesia

And you—do you see numbers in color or arranged in space? Feel free to share your synesthetic experiences with me.

Julio Le Parc – Nihil novi sub sole…

Gianni Sarcone

Although I’ve been working in the field of Op Art since the mid-1980s, it’s important to recognize that the movement itself has a deeper history. It began to take shape in the 1960s, led by pioneering figures such as Victor Vasarely and Bridget Riley.

However, the artists who truly captivate me—the ones who expanded the language of perception—are often the outsiders. One such figure is Julio Le Parc (b. September 23, 1928), an Argentine-born artist whose practice bridges Op Art and kinetic art. Le Parc studied at the School of Fine Arts in Argentina and went on to co-found the Groupe de Recherche d’Art Visuel (GRAV). His work, honored with numerous awards, holds a prominent place in Latin American modernism.

Le Parc’s recurring themes—color, light, and movement—have always resonated with me. During the ’60s and ’70s, he explored light not just as a visual element but as a living, dynamic material. Yet by the late ’70s, his presence in the art world had faded; his output became sporadic, and for decades his work slipped quietly out of the international spotlight.

 Fortunately, recent years have witnessed a renewed appreciation of his explorations in light and movement, bringing his contributions once again to the attention of a wider public.

Artist’s Website: http://www.julioleparc.org

Book: Catalog of the artist’s first solo exhibition, Paris, November–December 1966. Text in French by Frank Popper.

Misdirection → Illusion → Aha! Moment…

Gianni Sarcone

How misdirection, illusion, and wonder shape my creative process.

The path from misdirection to revelation is at the heart of how illusion and wonder spark insight. Misdirection steers our attention—often subtly—away from what truly matters. It disrupts our expectations, creating a gap between what we see and what is. Within that gap lies the illusion: a crafted discrepancy, a visual or cognitive sleight-of-hand that unsettles our perception.

But the magic doesn’t end there. When the illusion is cracked—when the mind shifts, recalibrates, and sees—the famous Aha! moment erupts. That flash of understanding isn’t just delightful; it’s deeply educational. It rewires how we interpret the world.

This sequence—misdirection, illusion, revelation—mirrors the creative process itself. It shows how confusion, when carefully designed, can be a gateway to clarity. In the right hands, illusion is not deception—it’s a tool to awaken curiosity, stretch perception, and provoke insight. Wonder, in this sense, becomes a powerful cognitive catalyst.

That’s why my art and, I believe, my writing, revolve around this sense of wonder—arguably the most direct and playful route to that pleasurable, often conflicting moment of insight: the sudden discovery of something previously unknown.

The Illusion of Color in Astrophysics

Gianni Sarcone

Study on Colors in Astrophysics – Ongoing Research

Under specific atmospheric conditions and with the technological tools employed, stars or planets may appear to emit green or blue light to some observers. However, as illustrated in the accompanying diagram, this is often nothing more than an optical illusion. The blue region seen in the diagram is actually a medium gray, entirely desaturated. You can verify this by using Photoshop’s color picker tool (or an analogous method) to check the true color values.

This phenomenon raises interesting questions about how color perception in astrophysics can be influenced by both atmospheric effects and the limitations of observational tools. How much of what we “see” in the cosmos is truly the color of the objects themselves, and how much is a product of the interaction between light, our atmosphere, and the instruments we use to detect it?

The Architecture of Light

Gianni Sarcone

Colors, though fundamentally phenomena of light, are not merely superficial aspects of perception. They play a structural role in organizing visual elements. For example, applying contrasting colors to a series of repetitive graphic patterns—while varying their distribution—can dramatically alter how they are perceived. This demonstrates how color is not just an embellishment but an active force in shaping visual reality.


As Goethe put it, “Colors are the deeds and sufferings of light.” More than a sensory experience, they influence our perception of space, depth, and meaning, revealing the intricate dialogue between vision and cognition.

🔍 Explore more about the illusion of colors.

Reflections of the Self

Gianni Sarcone

The mirror stage, conceptualized by Lacan, occurs in humans between six and eighteen months of age. It is the moment when a child perceives a unified image of their body and recognizes themselves in the mirror—a process rooted in the imaginary dimension—often accompanied by a sense of jubilation. This stage marks the emergence of narcissistic identification with the self.

But what about animals? Do they recognize themselves as a tangible entity in a mirror, or does their reflection remain an enigma to them? Research suggests that self-recognition in a mirror is rare in the animal kingdom. While species such as great apes, dolphins, elephants, and some birds—like magpies—can pass the mirror test, most animals either ignore their reflection or react as if encountering another individual. This highlights fundamental differences in self-awareness across species.

Do Animals Recognize Themselves in a Mirror?

The Science of Light: From White to RGB

Gianni Sarcone

When a beam of white light, composed of three converging monochromatic sources—red, green, and blue—passes through a slit, it is decomposed into its constituent colors. This results in three distinct vertical bands—red, green, and blue—which are projected onto a screen.

If an obstacle, such as a vertical wooden rod, is placed before the slit, it partially blocks some of the light components. As a result, three vertical stripes—cyan, magenta, and yellow—appear at the location of the slit. These colors are the complements of the original light sources and emerge through subtractive color mixing:

  • Cyan appears where red is blocked.
  • Magenta appears where green is blocked.
  • Yellow appears where blue is blocked.

By moving the rod, one can control which complementary color passes through the slit. This complementary color then cancels out its corresponding primary color behind the slit. For example, if magenta passes through, it eliminates green from the screen.

The concept of additive color mixing can be confusing for those who aren’t familiar with artistic or design principles. This is because people are generally more accustomed to subtractive color mixing, which is how colors blend in the physical world, such as when mixing pigments like paints or inks. In contrast, the additive color model describes how light produces color.

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.