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The painting I chose was Diana and Callisto. I did spend quite a while pondering which
one to choose and there was something about Callisto’s belly in the painting which is
very strange. Lucian Freud talks about it. He says something very dramatic, like everything
changed for him in the painting the moment he saw it, and I know what he means. And then
there was the fact that she became a constellation and that she was permanently up in the sky.
That caught my imagination too. The way I went about it was to look at the
paintings, or the reproductions of the paintings I had, and live with them for a while. Gradually,
gradually I became drawn to Diana and Callisto and then a series of problems presented themselves
to me. Who should speak for starters? Who should speak? I could choose any voice in
that painting. I could be another nymph. I could be the dog – actually I was quite
temped by the dog that’s looking at the audience. But I felt I wanted to speak as
her, so then the second problem presented itself: when in her history to choose?
I didn’t choose to make her speak at the moment of the painting. It’s almost as if
that’s too powerful or that Titian has done that work already. Perhaps there’s nothing
left in that moment to say. So, I became intrigued by the idea that she is a constellation and
that’s how she’s saved. * stars * stars * stars * stars * and * I
* * am * made * of * them * now * looking *
* down * on * myself * then * a * colorito * woman * yes *
I wrote out what I thought she might say in lots of different ways, little fragments,
and then gradually I began to hear in my head the kind of noise that I thought a star might
make. It was a crunchy, white-noisy, almost elements of radio in there, kind of noise.
I imagined her words coming out like that and punctuated like that and it’s represented
in the poem by every word being divided by an asterisk, which is, I guess, my way of
translating what I heard in my head.