“Yearnings. Yearnings of my mirror.” Beauty made familiar by the magic of eternal youth, by the dream of material that never dies. Like a magic that turns things into what they are and reveals its shaping of nature, leaves the material in the form of the material itself. In the play of reflection, flexing and reflecting, eyes that see two seeing eyes, a handful of soul, a breath of life that passes. Colours, shape, matter, all enclosed in the elusive truth of the surface of things, which explodes, leaving a mirror of yearnings and in the mirror its reflection.