2026Drypoint, monotype, oil pastel, satin, threads76 x 130 cm“If you want to make a discovery in medicine, study embryology,” a... Read More
2026
Drypoint, monotype, oil pastel, satin, threads
76 x 130 cm
“If you want to make a discovery in medicine, study embryology,” a friend of mine, an OB-GYN, once told me.
The birth of a child—weak, defenseless, unknown to the world and to themselves. A moment of ultimate dichotomy in a single, small act of continuing life. Their vulnerability is their strength. The uncertainty surrounding the infant is shrouded in everyday rituals, and no one knows who stands before us.
When I was 18, I visited a maternity hospital for the first time. My father, also an OB-GYN, took me into a shared nursery; my nephew had been born just the day before, and I was rushing to see my sister. The sight of so many babies lying in plastic bassinets shook me to the core (back then, infants were not kept with their mothers but were brought in only for feedings). I saw about twenty newborns, just one or two days old, who had only just passed their very first life trial. They had entered the world mostly swollen, bluish, and bewildered. Who are they? What lies ahead for them? At that moment, you realize that the destiny of each one is already invisibly woven into the shared fabric of humanity, where we are all bound by one indivisible fate. Whoever they may turn out to be, one truth remains:
“Everyone is really responsible to all men for all men and everything.” F.M. Dostoevsky.
