Fifteen women bury their men.
Are they brothers, cousins, regular lovers or first loves?
We don’t know. They mourn him without saying a word.
For pride, they think they’re at a hidalgo’s funeral.
For blackness, we evoke the procession of a Sicilian godfather.
We think it might be a celebration of the dead taking place somewhere in Mexico…
Who are these mourners in sky, velvet goat and river snake?
What are they called?
They wear huge piercings in their ears, chains slung over their shoulders and around their necks.
Their belts are cartridge belts. Sometimes they wear dresses, but you’d think they were in armor.
These women are not dolls, gentlemen; they are more to be feared than protected.
They say, “The king is dead, long live the queens”.
Delphine Delafon offers all her know-how and audacity for their wild, new freedom.
She cuts, embroiders, burns and tans second skins.
Delphine Delafon invents the feminine form of the word desperado.
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