Ion Barbu said that poetry and mathematics meet at a single point. I am not sure I believe him. But I was curious whether I could give the idea a chance.
Can poetry be looked at through a mathematical eye? The answer belongs to whoever is looking, and most of all to whoever will carry this.
The bag is small and unisex. The symbol on it is not.
It is a peacock, built from a series of intersecting Fibonacci curves. Not drawn the ordinary way, not faithful and pictorial, but geometric. The tail is not made of feathers. It is an explosion of elliptical orbits opening out in a fan.
I refused to draw it. A drawn peacock is a beautiful bird and nothing more. I wanted one that could not exist unless you calculated it.
Peacock, or phoenix. The old legends say the flesh of a peacock does not rot after the bird is cut, which made it a symbol of incorruptibility and of eternal life as far back as antiquity. The tail became the light of higher knowledge.
Around the circle, three words. Centrum. Cosmos. Labyrinthus.
Peacock or phoenix, poetry seen through a mathematical eye, for me it stays the same thing. The dignity of someone who finds their own light, on the inside.
I worked the leather myself, through a play of temperature and pressure. The design is mine. There is no other like it in the world, and there will be another only if I decide so, in other colours.
21 cm long, 9.5 wide and 19 high. Lined in lambskin, with a neodymium magnet closure. Leather strap worn with a 60 cm drop.
One in the world. Cut, stitched and finished by Alexandra, in Arad.
The other bags on the table right now are here.
