A few years ago a female photographer invited me to participate in a self-referential work. I went to her house and she gave me a little note that said, "15 years ago I was coming back from the cinema, a man approached me and raped me in the street like a cow".
At first I had to overcame that impression and I tried to understand why I was there. I finally accepted to participate, like many others, contributing what I could to her project.
During that period I was impacted by this reality. This work was appearing, on a raw canvas, placed on a dirty cement floor. That white canvas primed with tar, was losing its cleanliness leaving these scars, the scars of the street, which transformed into a voice of its own. The traction of the spatula, the sticky paste that clung to it, were making appear a cow open to dismemberment - the punished hide of a cow, of some cow, denouncing an infinite punishment and a single pain.