But the classic that has come down to us loaded the inevitable signs of aging is only a ruin (in architecture), a fragment or a copy (in sculpture), nothing more than a written description (in painting). His perfection has been tarnished, broken, eroded and as such breaks in our imagination even more spectacular and romantic.
The metopes are elements of the Doric temple, not something complete and finished, are parts, fragments of a whole. But decontextualized and hung in a museum, retain their charm. Each has, even in its asymmetry and originality, that sense of absolute truth. The secret is in the composition of the parties, the harmony of empty and full marks.
Also my metopes are fragments, parts of a set (of body). In their precarious looking, tentatively, to capture that moment of eternity and ever so dear to classical.