I'm hiding part of my face behind a black cloth, spread from side to side between two opposite walls of the gallery, right next to the large window that overlooks the street. Passersby stop...
I'm sitting in a black chair, in front of me a black table containing lipsticks and paper.
I draw using my mouth which is painted with lipstick, carmine color, i'm rubbing 1,000 white papers DIN A4 off my lips, energetically, without pause for hours.
I'm using a red lipstick, assuming all associations that can arise from its pure look: eroticism, beauty, life, the exotic, death, gambling, prostitution, circus, madness, party, violence, etc.
The initial aspect of beauty disappears and my face is stained red, taking a foolish, ironic look.
After the first half hour, the pain of friction appears and the stabbing uncertainty: I do not know if I am going to support this... In human trafficking 80% of the victims are women and girls, that hurts my mind and urges me to continue beyond of the imaginable...
In this exercise of painting my lips over and over again, rubbing them incessantly, I'm creating unconscious forms on the papers, they are organic traces that mark a rhythm, an event in the middle of winter, that breaks my bones. The spectators are silent.
I'm marking the time, until my mouth does not resist anymore, until the papers are over. The drawings fall to the ground and form a plot of gestures, in the middle of the night that is approaching. The energy decays, thirst, hunger, exhaustion.
Second by second, hours after hours, I continue to imprint this mute, fierce language with my lips.
It is the voice of those who can not speak ...