Over the past few months some new-borns have seen the light of my studio. Of all colours, migrants or migrated, inert or enterprising ones, wounded or happy ones, even new-born aristocrats. Nearly everything.
In the delivery room we have worked! I call it the delivery room, but I'm not a gynaecologist nor a nurse, but simply craftsman of mall brushes, welders, toxic resins and beeswax. The becoming mums are not young women who get close to the happy end of their pregnancy, but virgin canvasses, old, recovered iron pieces and passed on manometers.
