This is the cry. The last breath. The text that doesn't explain: it affirms. It's not an article, it's raw material. A block of words to place on the floor, to hang on the wall, to shout in an empty street. This is my manifesto, me, Arson. It resembles me: it doesn't need permission.

The female body in a sensitive and embodied description Arson, with his sculptures, seems to emerge from a world where the female body is never decorative, but charged, conscious, resistant. Each form is a physical statement, each association with an object becomes a symbolic act.