Sacred Vulva Everything and Everywhere

In the installation ‘Sacred Vulva Everything and Everywhere’, ‘She’, a Byzantine gold-leaf icon, dialogues in a joyfully ironic way through neon with contemporary art. The overlapping of neon with writing merges different mediums to bring out the futile and sacred play of life with a note of irony already present in the icons themselves. The depiction of the Vulva, using the technique of Byzantine sacred icons, is the means to speak of the immanent sacred that makes our deepest imagination visible.

Let's go into the details of this installation.

In the first icon ‘On the road’ there is all my love for motorbikes and travelling. I still bear the scars of my motorbike rides. I always look spellbound at the groups of motorcyclists I meet on my travels. Where did they start from? Where will they arrive? What will be the next trip? Now it is no longer important because ‘She’ travels with each of them.
In the second icon ‘Fuming’ there is the memory of my father who loved western films and of me as a child watching them with him. Every shot, a death. Each death an excruciating pain that pierced me. This project of the Sacred Vulva allowed me to look back in time, when under the auspices of the Great Mother, death was always linked to regeneration.  I fully embraced this concept. Guns in my childhood always replaced dolls, so I armed ‘She’ because in this life it is important to know how to use, metaphorically, the right weapons.
In the third icon ‘Dreaming’, ‘She’ describes a dream I had during a painful time when everything seemed to be without a solution.  In the dream I walk down the street, raise my head and see two women standing on a balcony, between them a black ram. ‘Help me,’ I try to shout, but the sound of my voice is hoarse, weak, exhausted. The two women and the ram look at me, then back into the house. ‘She’ recalls the dream to stop that suspended moment and give my pain time to resolve.
And finally in the last icon ‘Breakfast’, ‘She’ is represented in the Oro Saiwa biscuit.  A biscuit always present in the pantry of my beloved grandmother, my mother's mother, my refuge. A thin biscuit with an unattractive shape in the eyes of a child. Yet, here it shines with a little bit of my grandmother's jam, fragrant, surprising.