By Cristina Fallarás

Snow White ventures into the woods, feeling the tree branches as they gently and sometimes not so gently whip against her pubescent, ivory flesh. Her clothing is ripped off  right before the eyes of the ferocious wolf, and she is left covered only by a red hood, acquired at God knows what second-hand dive, where that Mapplethorpe photo of a Sadist with his black anus on display undoubtedly hangs.

From the first door of Dante’s inferno, GIVE UP ALL HOPE, seven dwarves, clearly extracted from the Kama Sutra, handsomely dressed as Viceroys who have just undressed, hold onto a libidinous Marquis as he pours wax on the back of a poor, subjugated child?.

From the deranged quicio- doorway of the forest, Snow White surveys the scene. She knows what’s going to happen and she prepares to TRANSCEND.

(In the fuchsia sky, the three GRACES have finally arrived, intertwining their legs and chanting Eastern mantras while massaging, RUBBING, their open vulvas against each others’ meaty legs. And they are the SUN, and are almost blinding)

In the place where panic and pleasure unite, sex and art are born.
In the place where the meekest of flesh and total immortality cross paths, sex and art take off walking, hand in hand, entangled like those two dwarves who now tie their bodies together at the waist with the long penis of the Marquis de Sade, before the obvious disapproval of Balthus.

The body of the fat matron, member of the CLAN that has just risen to populate the earth is a vessel for enormous udders which serve as much to elevate themselves kneading mud as to penetrate flesh. What’s the difference —MAN asks himself, even before he knows to ask himself— between creating a body from clay, ART, and launching it into the future, into the universe –  and recreating the universe in this body, SEX, making it fly beyond itself, towards that same future?

Man’s action. Yearning for eternity. Playful exercise of carnal abandon. Elevation of pagan religion. Art and sex are the same since the beginning of consciousness.

Snow White begs, pleads that they allow her a prayer before she submits to promiscuity.
—Why? What for?
—Because THIS is not allowed. To SAVE my soul.
NEVER! —the mirror shouts—. Art is about surpassing limits, nothing is prohibited. We salivate before the phosphorescent fields of the imagination. Look above, at the Ephebe that pierces the flesh of the Graces on the winged plane of Leonardo.
—But that is obscene.
—You are obscenity, you little puritan.

And indeed, the adolescent IS the mirror.