These small sculptures of women seem born out of a realm of form that came before ours, where feelings preceded thought, and words were not. They are sisters, while it is clear that one is the mother of the other. Her somber skin tones evoke the complexity of a burdensome past, whilst each woman will experience being a daughter, then a mother, alternatively one and the other, and then existing as both. It happens that a daughter might have to die before bearing a child in the other world. These kinds of women are the apprentices of Patience; their foreheads are carved with an unusual destiny, they possess vision, and exhibit the purity of resignation associated with uncommon knowhow. 

Women of this kind are massive because they are fecund; Paleolithic Venuses; caves filled with the mystery of resonance; as talismans, they live inside of us; they watch. Their limbs and articulations are suggested rather than defined. Thus, the start of the shoulders or the bend at the knee are evoked only by a greater surface undulation, as if to mark transition, passage and movement, or express the vital rhythm of which they are a part. Their great arms serve as shawls, armors or tentacles, useful for an array of gestures finalized in the hands, these stars of the heart made to distribute the earth’s goodness. Kindness in the face makes them beautiful; their thick hair is raked with the regular rhythm of a Zen garden, and culminates in a circling infinite that revolves around an immense bun, unmovable rock, and God’s anchor.

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