Of the nightingale I envy the fate, the gods have provided him with wings

and with a very sweet song that covers every lament,

while to me the fate has reserved to be ripped apart

by a terrible double-edged axe…

(Cassandra, Oresteia)

A shamanic rite in which the stereotypical feminine fragility and her fiery spirit of vengeance merge, the funereal visions of the future, like animal prowess, the elegance of the gesture and the fluttering of the eyelashes – a nightingale hybridised by tropical feathers that refracts in an altered space – in dialogue with a mobile light (from beyond the world?) that chases and challenges her. Its language also oscillates, fluidly, between lucidity and animal mimicry that makes it shrill, obstinate and sweet. After the journey to the underworld, she returns to the surface transformed and nourished by the serpentine larvae of the earth, the light feathers gone, she emerges head down ready to continue, because once again, we were not meant to survive, as a fighter/Cassandra like Audre Lorde writes.

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