Native to Cyprus but based in London and Athens, Lito Kattou speaks in sharp edges, oxidation and anodization. Her sculptural installations radiate both menace and wonderment.
Razor, cut. Races the cut, erases. Raze the ground. Wound found. There is space, between the cuts, to forge and build. Cut the rut. En route to Ur. Shut or shuck. Nut to brute. There is space that smells of electrical charges, a suit concocted to travel to the stars. Races of cats. Glut of scars. Scarce, so far, feline stab. A hyperweapon in clothes, a sun to be fought and ages be blended by a will to light. Raise the slab. Re-ice rays. As razors or so. Roars rush. Rouge razing. Defacing. Sharp as an eclipse is the worn blade, gold is the expectation, received is the wound, jubilant the feline faces falling.