"Neither hello, madam, or Danielle, I am templed to call her Bigata, treating her right from the start with the intimacy of a fellow soldier, so intensely does she personnify - a woman-creature with perfect shoulder-lines - a logic of quiet force, tactile creativity and imperial beauty.

Bigata has the same large shoulders as her statues, the recognisable intelligence of’ the explorers of their art, and the eyes of it single love which sometimes become bloodshot, overcome by the extraordinary fatigue caused by an uninterrupted progression towards plenitude.

You must understand, she is beautiful. Beautiful in a body of hamony like an appeased lioness, basking in the setting sun at the peaceful hour of ebbing lakes.

Any approach of Bigata begins with a journey into her scuplture. You must observe, measur, understand in what bronze humus. oaken heart, mineral ruse, she gives birth to a smile, a flower, the curve of a nip.

Bigata.

Weaving hours of solitude, attentive, caressed by her sereness in the paths she follows,  you must watch her invent the marble, grooving with the chisel a gash in the veined wound of the stone, powerful and yet tender, sometimes feeling the forboding of a vertiginous loss of hope, or on the contrary, the resurrection of confidence, nearing the end, patient and passionate - awakening desire with the chisel between consenting thighs - and then, as she suddenly abandons the mallet - slowly and religiously - seeking motionless that secret which reveals the end of the work, you must listen to her as she feels the silence which that very morning was held in the palm of a halfopen hand.. ."