Mary Jane | 2014 | Polaroid
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag” The moment is upon us. Following the tracks of an impelling transformation, Sylvia approaches the grave of a child, Mary Jane. The harsh paradox, ever present in her work. Death-life: dance.
(…)And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love” What is it that binds Sylvia to this grave? What path did she take to get here, to this anonymous London cemetery? What prayer did she say when she arrived? What cloud is this, can you see? As a crack in time opens up, here is the living fog of deep encounters.
The moment is the remembrance of the gods / it comes / it goes // You know – it will return: / a moment, a lifetime, a century from now // A death // ‘Tomorrow'” Sylvia and her photo of the breakthrough moment. Fantasies in a trance. Newly existing in a beginningless story, where love rules the open crack of life in us. When the beam of love bears silence, and Sylvia finds – at long last – a dancing portrait of herself. Fabric of time lived.
 Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass.
 William Blake in Songs of innocence and experience.
 Heloiza Abdalla in Ana Flor da Água da Terra (ed. Iluminuras).