There is still a small, little chance that you are reading this letter.
Hi, how are you?
I’m Lucy and I was born a couple of million years before you were born.
I have a lot in common with your mother, in terms that it is not very clear who the fathers of our children are. Certainly, your step dad was a decent man. The biological one - well, it’s complicated. However, according to the current political line, we (myself and Mary) are both quite powerful. Your mother was, for instance, “ruling” the past 2000 years.
I can see that you have been fairly popular around social media, such as religious paintings, sculptures or all these funny buildings with useless towers, where people gather for some reason. Recently, a super creative Polish government nearly appointed you as a King of Poland (true story). You are doing very well, either on Axel Rose’s chest or inside a stunning, old cathedral building.
But where the hell are you?
I mean I’m a mother of mankind but all I have left is a miserable skeleton somewhere in Ethiopia.
“A plaster replica is publicly displayed there instead of the original skeleton”
Dear Jesus, how are you displayed? Where? Why? What is the method?
Is it a neat, sterile display or is it arte povera? Land art, new media, video? Is it tasty or cliche?
Are you still the most famous textile artist in history?
Looking forward to hearing from you.