That absent look, present in the movement of a sculpture when it is isolated and exposed as what it really is: details assembled in which we look for identification.
The uncomfortable lack of context and the body which reveals folds, stains, textures that we generally try to hide and erase, may these be what we really feel attracted to after all? Sculpture, as well as photography, invites us to pause. As if captured by an abyss, we are moved by the curiosity for someone else's body, but mainly, by someone else's intimacy.
A photography that pretends to be a sculpture invites us to pay attention to the detail, unable to spin around, we have to accept that the other sides are there as well. We are obliged to accept that the piece has been edited for us, making us focus on one part of it only. In each case, the study and the election of the instant of movement are present. Even inviting us to doubt its existence as a sculpture.
Almost laughing at ourselves. We may recognize ourselves in them, either as a whole or in pieces, trying to discover ourselves. That absurd human intention to represent what is real, and to keep looking for the repetition of what is quotidian with the slightest detail, almost an exercise of personal analysis when we want to be in someone else's skin.