/the ambiguous eroticism of vlasta delimar/
I.Things come full circle. I am writing on a theme that adopts the strategy and the sorrow of proximity. At the same time, I have never been so far removed from the artist, after nine essays dedicated to her work, and after ten pre-erotic, or post-erotic years spent together in the shadow of a begotten daughter. So in lieu of a foreword, I offer some incontrovertible and merciless facts. Time has passed and eroticism itself has become like old gold – valuable in itself, in the melancholy presence of the departed protagonists. Eroticism is a dream. A dream that has vanished, that lingers, etc.
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