Ikon of Eros

The tempo of the music changes frequently, illustrating love that at times may be almost austere and at other times ecstatic. In the second movement an ethereal female chorus is suddenly punctuated by deep percussion instruments and gives way to an almost erotic middle eastern beat, contrasting a pure spiritual love with a more physical, sensual form.

大卫·阿尔特米德

Dans son travail de réflection, il y a de l’érotique et de l’onirique en quantité, et son intérêt pour la transformation des corps nous place d’emblée du côté d’un rapport intime et empathique à ses grands lycanthropes qui nous ressemblent, captés en pleine transformation et comme coincés quelque part entre l’humain et l’animal, le vivant et le minéral.

Ses oeuvres sont complexes et souvent autoréférentielles : des moulages et des objets sont mis en scène dans un décor exubérant, chargé d’ornements, de bijoux, de breloques et de toutes sortes de choses scintillantes. Il y a des fleurs aussi, des écureuils naturalisés, des ossements, des cheveux synthétiques, des cristaux, le morbide toujours inextricablement mêlé à une étrange beauté qui n’est jamais très loin du monde de l’enfance. Il y a aussi l’idée de la décapitation, de la douleur et de la violence.

Romain Slocombe
[…]His interest in pre-1960 photography, cars and clothing allowed him to build a very clear picture in his mind when writing Monsieur le Commandant, his first novel to be published in English (UK publication Sept 13). War, eroticism and medical fetishism, in particular the notion of female beauty under threat, are photographic interests which have also made their way into his writing.more…

“O impossivel”

They touch. They bite. They get warm. They penetrate. They are made. They get rid of. They stick their tongues in. They put the body in. They get body. They split up. They exist.
They want to be one. It is impossible (“O impossivel”). Which means that a single body, as you would like, is impossible. It can not. For a moment yes, for a moment they can. But no, they can’t. Impossible. They cannot be one. Despite the bites. Their bodies are different. They were born and will die self-absorbed, in themselves. Between them there is an abyss, a discontinuity. But they want to be continuous, they want their bodies to be one body. Since they cannot, they celebrate the sacrifice of the meat. “Essentially,” says Georges Bataille, “the field of eroticism is the field of violence, the field of rape.” Isn’t it violent, perhaps, to want to break the discontinuity of the other closed in on itself? Isn’t it violent to force the discontinuity of the other to be a continuous whole with him? O impossível by the Brazilian Maria Martins (1894/1973) shows the excesses of sex (take note: excess, sex). Or impossível is the moment in which the organs swell with blood and gush sexuality. The moment when animality makes us gloriously human.