Sybaritic, the tarantula swings fly wings and beetle shells on its skeletal web. Once the sunlight has filtered through, the web on the ground is a polygon containing various triangles and curious gothic arches. Without a shout, without anger, the voluptuousness of the voracious spider adds angles and lines to the web of geometric lines that its shadow moves across the dust. Lepidoptera and chrysalises, dragonflies and termites, in the warp they find a metamorphosis that won't be the last, nothing is final in nature, living or deceased, alive or dead. The slight rustle of the web denounces the lust of the beast and the late afternoon breeze, which will take with it the idol on the ground but not the prototype in the corner and its dangers.

Larvae, caterpillars, ants and wasps, lizards, birds, rats and snakes, the silk ambush transforms them night and day into filigree and pearl and, filtered in the sunlight, into insignia and strange patterns like sphinxes.

Sanguine