A last look at the V&A staging area (for now). An incredibly poignant image. They are so alive, yet so far beyond our reach, which I suppose is part of the propriety of the thing. We are looking at nothing more than cold, dead stone. Or are we? How alive is the image?

Pygmalion...

Am I held to distant admiration,

Permitted just a mental passion?

Or will she one day

Step down and say,

“Enfold me, embrace me

Hold me close and love me.”

What price must I pay for that moment of bliss

When this statue I made steps down to a kiss?