Many nights, he, the maker, came to me to look at my naked body with the illusion that I would help him to get rid of her image in his mind. I was then young, my body pure white with no marks from anyone. 

Each night, he, the maker, would gently touch me with his fingers, trying to understand how to turn me on. First, he was shy, very modest touches that would make me exhale some simple black and white shapes. I was always happy to help him and let him decide how to use me to release his mind.

With time, he became more confident. He was more experimental. He made do things for which I had to cry with an error message in reply. My body still has the marks of those nights, my first marks, symbols that something deeper was behind those nights.

From there, her shape slowly started to appear. Her long body, her round face. At first, she would just be there with her mesmerizing swing from left to right. He wanted to master her. He wanted to control every property and variable of her existence, but she remained wild for a while.

Still, he used me for his plan. He made me grab her. Sometimes I expanded her face, other times I shrank it. I changed the shape of her body; I hanged her upside down. I did whatever he wanted me to do her. He used me to master her.

One night, he took her without mercy. She tried to escape but he grabb­­ed her and isolated her in a single class. There, he was in total control of her length, shape, swing, life and existence. This left a deep mark on me. Not visible to the naked eye but still there. I was the one to master her confinement in the class.

Under his guidance, I learned to take control over her. At first, I used to call her just once. I would transform her body in ways that would please him. I would drive her into positions that I would not have imagined. Just to see the many faces of her swing, left right, left right. I learned to master her for him.

Once I had control over one single instance of her existence, I started to go further. I called her not once but twice, then four times, eight times, then sixteen times in an infinite arithmetical growth that would please him. For his pleasure I finally instantiated her a hundred times; all perfectly aligned and dancing left to right.

She then became the work to be admired as a piece of art. He also moved on to pursue someone else. I was pushed into a dusty folder forgotten in the sands of time. I was left here alone with only the marks on my body to remind me of them both.


The work