Echo

Once, in the woods, as he pursu’d the chance,
The babbling Echo had descry’d his face;
She, who in others’ words her silence breaks,
Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.
Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
Of wonted speech; for tho’ her voice was left,
Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
To sport with ev’ry sentence in the close.
Full often when the Goddess might have caught
Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
This nymph with subtle stories would delay
Her coming, ‘till the lovers slip’d away.
The Goddess found out the deceit in time,
And then she cry’d, “That tongue, for this thy crime,
Which could so many subtle tales produce,
Shall be hereafter but of little use.”
Hence ‘tis she prattles in a fainter tone,
With mimic sounds, and accents not her own.

Ovidio, Metamorphoses, Echo and Narcissus (Book III)

 

Technique / Material
acrylic, tar

Year
2013

Body & Painting

In these works the body becomes my support, my material, my tool. Its transformation into painting gives the illusion to be thrown in a new reality…mythological or fairy-tale.