I found out about the story of Pygmalion shortly after I did this piece, an ancient myth about a man falling in love with his sculpture and it coming to life as a result; somehow that must have come through to me subconsciously while I was conceiving of this piece, or perhaps I had forgotten learning about it in my youth. Notice my placing audience members on squares like the ones I have on my feet, I also made them hold photos of me performing in the same gallery years prior when it was under different ownership. These are dimensional rips. They become involved witnesses rather than the crowd entity of seated watchers. I think the loss of body parts (erroneous drives?) of both male and female somehow brings them into balance, like the black and white yin yang of the marble. though I cannot articulate exactly what the head is, perhaps feminine elusiveness, a private mind that women seem, to men, to have. Or, in a broader sense that could apply to the the self and relationships: the duality of thought and focus between the present mind and the one roving the past/future/alternate. Maybe it describes how an artist’s lust is different than common lust, going beyond sex. The artist could represent man striving for power and perfection, to sculpt his reality, but for man (a temporary bit of force) to try to create this living marble from scratch is an ersatz god power, and the formlessness of it is not like real marble (formed by eternal forces) in the sense that it has inherent integrity, but rather it is pure entropy.