Some sort of pressure must exist, the artist exists because the world is not perfect. Art would be useless if the world were perfect, as man wouldn’t look for harmony but would simply live in it. Art is born out of an ill-designed world.
The houses. I am walking between the houses, I am between the houses, upright on the pavement; the pavement beneath my feet exists, the houses close in on me, as the water closes over me, over the paper in the shape of a swan, I am.
That is to say ,in opposition between the spectral appearance of the sexualized body and the repulsive body in decay it is the spectral appearance which is real and the decaying body which is reality- we take recourse to the decaying body in order to avoid the deadly fascination with the real which draws us into its vortex of the Jouissance.
The figure can simply be occupying a space and attempting to create structure through the inanimate objects contained within that space; like a prisoner whose sole possessions are a bucket, chair, bed and a washbasin, these objects are used to calculate time. However the mirror (if available) is the preparation for escape, or quite literally the passage from one state of awareness to the next.