Everything sacred is covered: the chalice before the offering, the symbol behind the curtain, the relic in its reliquary, the virgins in their mantle, the warm bread, the one who sleeps.

Mona 2 sleeps beneath a mantle of Turkish fabric, embroidered in mulberry silk: fetuses of sheep and calves, paleolithic figures, fresh ova, nervous sperm, human fetuses, and abstract figures. The mantle is the sky that covers us and covers life, it is the mantle of survival based on wild biological reproduction. What sounds, who shrieks, who bellows? Calves, sheep, goats? Whatever they are, all of them hang cowbells: they are lost souls.

Beneath the mantle, the plastic sleeping bag, and beneath that, the silent mechanism, like that of a grand piano, whose mechanics disappear to make way for what is represented.

Mona 2 is a self-portrait, a forest-planet lies and turns within the hood, without ears or eyes. In the drawing floating above Mona 2 (Tent Visions 4), two foxes float around a nocturnal tree. They are invisible souls to me, which my dog perceived all night.