Of those pieces of raw stone, of those marbles and white, grey or pink limestones, emerge those shapes which softness and curves truly transfigure the mineral and captivate the eye as the hand that cannot refrain from holding out to caress the sheen and appreciate the density of that petrified and yet so alluring flesh. What can be said then of those wood sculptures, ash, walnut and cherry woods, which we already feel the warmth and the grain in our palms, which we stroke the lingerie and laces while holding irrepressible sighs, which transparencies make us quiver? Is it still art moving us, or already a spell we greet rapturously?
Souillac, Midi-Pyrénées, France
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