nSPHERE december 2011

Oscillate, to metamorphose. The snow crunches under feet. They walk in silence, behind the bride.

There is a slight trickle in the air, as the chanting starts. The voice is almost quiet, but rips out sobs from dried out throats. The bride, forever pure, forever bounded to the ground. The cortege returns to pay the dead, to acknowledge her passing. A mother pleads from grief to certainty of laying her daughter in the arms of the most protective lover. Michaela KnĂ­ĹžovĂĄ: a metamorphose of humanity.

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