For almost every art form, I find I can imagine where the artist began. The first words of a story that demands to be told, the distant musical refrain in an ear, the dash of colour in a mind’s eye. But I can’t even begin to think how a sculpture like this is created – where Bernini must have started, how he proceeded to capture these bodies in motion. I almost find it easier to believe he used real people and somehow turned them to stone.
