What if one day disappeared? If we were forced to do tabula rasa, what would we have left? Ornament as the last refuge. The metamorphosis as the ultimate subterfuge.
The woman becomes a ship dressed in veils of false modesty, encrusted with jewels of skins holding its flight. The terra cotta color crepe can be folded, soft playing the carapace. The fold is pushed to its paroxysm: it does not redraw a body but the space all around.