That voice you hear comes certainly from a person. A voice, however, is not a person. It is something suspended in the air, detached from the solidity of things. It might not resemble a person, or else, they could resemble each other in an imperceptible way. The voice could be the equivalent of the hidden and most genuine part of the person.
Is it a bodiless you that listens to that bodiless voice? Whether you actually hear it or merely remember or imagine it, makes no difference.
And yet, you physically perceive its presence. What touches in the voice is not only a memory or a fancy but tangible tremblings, vibrating and resonating flesh. A voice means that there is a living person, throat, larynx, chest, feelings, sending that voice into the air.

The Per-sona pulsates between the voice of the body and the body of the voice, between the (in)visible and the (in)audible. As it listens to the sound of the voice, both its materiality and elusiveness, it places the body’s sonic signature. The boundaries between what is inside and outside are blurred. The voice is a presence that goes beyond the body and penetrates spaces; a force that unites sensuality and intimacy; a dynamic vibrating in pleasure, ugliness, beauty and madness, in the familiar and the unknown.