We saw alabaster.
He saw the nose of a Napoleon.
An inverted 3D.
An image internal.
Projected on the sculptor's screen.
The chisel was minutely chinked with the faces of all his adams and eves.
Ideals eternal spun inside the beauty of the solid stone.
Stone as white as a cloudless moon.
Bellini in the Villa Borghese was made to make us weep.
The heightened reality of Jupiter's fat fingers sunk into Persephone's petrified thigh.
And Shakespeare's Hermoine's Perdita is found.
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