An old story has it that the Virgin, before she was of marriagable age, and working at the loom in the Temple with the other women, would spin none but the red thread. The colour red, which always refers to her condition as a woman, torn between childless virginity and maternity paid for with price of her initial purity, is the colour underlying Lucy's imaginative world. It turns to thorns – ah, what lovely words are aubépine and biancospino (English is unlucky with "hawthorn"): what sharp pricks are concealed beneath their its fair appearance! The thorns thereafter become gowns, beautiful gowns that give the illusion of youth, that flutter and return as time returns: "si tu t'imagines, filette, filette,,," sang Juliette Greco. The blood of life flows in our bodies like of scarlet vessels forming a map of rivers charged with haemoglobin that irrigate our bodies until reaching our precious brain itself.

With Lucy Jochamowitz it has been proved that there can be a dialogue between contemporary creativity and the most memorable works of art in our museums. We saw it when she was the "Guest" of the Casa Rodolfo Siviero Museum in Florence, the place where she first made a niche for herself.

And Lucy is also a draughtswoman. She chooses her papers with the greatest of care. Her drawings are like a farandole accompanying her works. They enable her, with dash and jubilation, to create on a small scale what the materials of her three-dimensional work do not permit. In them her creative ardour is expressed just as much and no less importantly, because the foldings and interlockings are made with her accustomed care, but more lightly, with more detachment. This is the magic of the wash-drawing, of transparencies on the white of the paper, that white which is a colour, the colour of renewal, of the possibility of starting from scratch, in the words of Louise Bourgeois, whom Lucy would by no means deny to be a model of the woman artist.

Catherine Monbeig Goguel