On Show at Everyday Gallery // September 05th 2020- 4rth October 2020. Antwerp, Belgium
Ceramic, steel, metal leaf
70 x 48 x 75 cm
70 x 48 x 75 cm
© Silvia Cappellari
‘Why deny me water? It is put there
for common use. Nature has not made sun,
air, or running water the property
of individuals. I have come here
to a place which benefits all people.
And yet I ask you as a suppliant
to let me use it. I am not going
to bathe my body or my weary limbs
here in the lake, but merely quench my thirst.
Even as I speak, my mouth lacks moisture,
and my jaws are dry. I can hardly find
a channel for my voice to pass through them.
A drink of water will be nectar to me,
and, at the same time, it will save my life.
That I will acknowledge—with the water
you will offer me my life. Take pity
on these children, too, here at my bosom,
stretching out their tiny arms towards you.’
[...]
The daughter of Coeus, in her fierce rage,
forgets her thirst and now no longer tries
to plead with such undeserving wretches.
She can no longer bear to utter words
demeaning to a goddess. With hands raised
up to the sky, she cries:
‘Live forever in that pond of yours.’
OVID, THE METAMORPHOSES Translated by Ian Johnston, Vancouver Island University, Nanaimo, British Columbia, Canada
for common use. Nature has not made sun,
air, or running water the property
of individuals. I have come here
to a place which benefits all people.
And yet I ask you as a suppliant
to let me use it. I am not going
to bathe my body or my weary limbs
here in the lake, but merely quench my thirst.
Even as I speak, my mouth lacks moisture,
and my jaws are dry. I can hardly find
a channel for my voice to pass through them.
A drink of water will be nectar to me,
and, at the same time, it will save my life.
That I will acknowledge—with the water
you will offer me my life. Take pity
on these children, too, here at my bosom,
stretching out their tiny arms towards you.’
[...]
The daughter of Coeus, in her fierce rage,
forgets her thirst and now no longer tries
to plead with such undeserving wretches.
She can no longer bear to utter words
demeaning to a goddess. With hands raised
up to the sky, she cries:
‘Live forever in that pond of yours.’
OVID, THE METAMORPHOSES Translated by Ian Johnston, Vancouver Island University, Nanaimo, British Columbia, Canada