In the eighties feminine reproduces colourful sections of sparkling, articulate images, engraved in our instincts and in the creativity of each of us.

Rejoicing, writing, crying, playing, working, making love, making laws, speaking or praying, "femininely", to add something, some times a lot, to the daily life of the present. And, also, a true and fantastic moment; its tones become lost in the depths, in contours of difficult reading; its enjoyment becomes an emblematic experience to be punctuated with questions of every kind.

"Sometimes, in a dream - writes Elias Canetti - he knocked her skirt again and again until Therese fell to the ground. Then he slipped it off her feet. Suddenly, he found he had a pair of scissors in his hand and cut it up into tiny little pieces … After cutting up her skirt into small pieces, he found the pieces were still too large: perhaps she would be able to sew them back together again. And so, without even raising his eyes, he started all over again. Then, he tipped a bag full of blue rags over Therese. How had the rags ended up in the bag?".

Like in Karilsandunt! Where the snow, in winter does not make crystal outside the door; where, on the home fire, engrossed in itself, for all, thought does not sew back the times remaining.

In the institutional laboratories of mercury and glass, is it possible to orient sensitivity and the emotions of the contemporary in this direction?
Yes, also.

And yet, each time, the generations of the long years of terrorism have been called to reaffirm their reasons for wishing to be free to choose, not to succumb to the pressures of repetition. And, too often, they have been compelled to commit intelligence and passion so as not to suffer the call of the banal and one-sided taste.

Feminine throbs in the labyrinths of rationality, whose confines are far more "equivocal" than we thought, or were accustomed to believing in the closed velvet sanctuaries and inside the stylistic methods of the already known.

And Sibilla Aleramo, a woman, far, on the horizon of greater confines, with the ghost of old and new solitudes.

And Emmeline, Sylvia and Christabel Pankhurst, "suffragettes" for a great suffrage.

For a germ of a first smile, for a silk sock, for a nut blossomed at dawn.

And the antrum is in the sword.