Klára Petra Szabó „Under the Same Sky”, instalacja (akwarela na papierze, stereogramy soczewkowe), 2015. Wystawa „Miasto vs przyroda (Város vs. természet)”, Deák17 Galériá / FKSE, Budapeszt 2018

The Tiger-Woman came to me
When dusk was close and men were dull.
She beckoned from the jungle-path;
I followed, dreaming, fanciful.

The Tiger-Woman’s face is pale,
But oh, her speaking eyes are dark.
No beast can move so lithe as she
Beside the matted river’s mark.

The jungle is a fearsome place
For men who hunt, and men who slay,
But I was not afraid to go
Where Tiger-Woman led the way.

The Tiger-Woman’s lips are thin;
Her teeth are like the Tiger’s teeth.
Yet her soft hands are woman’s hands,
And oh, the blood beats warm beneath.

She led me to a little glade,—
The creepers with the moon inwove,—
And two great striped beasts leaped up
And fawned upon her breast in love.

The Tiger-Woman’s voice was sweet;
I hearkened and was not afraid.
She stroked the Tigers’ fearful jaws;
Upon their heads my hands I laid.

And all the jungle things drew near,
And all the leaves a music made
Like spirits chanting in a choir
Along the bamboo colonnade.

Too sweet for human harps to sound,
It touched my blood, it fired my heart
The Tiger-Woman sang, and I
Sang too, and understood her art.

She kissed the Tiger’s snarling mouth.
She kissed—I marveled that she could—
But now her lips were warm on mine;
I cared not they were dabbed with blood.

What if the traveller shuns my hut,
What if the world forgets to be,
What if I have the Tiger’s heart,—
The Tiger-Woman loveth me!

Donald Davidson The Tiger-Woman (The Fugitive, 1922)