Plato and Fornasetti's muse

Written By jorge cruz

Plato called them the Spherical People.

This image comes from one of my favorite — and lesser-known — myths: the story Aristophanes tells in Plato’s The Symposium. A strange and tender explanation of love, identity, and longing. In it, humans were once whole beings — spherical, complete, powerful in their unity. Out of fear, Zeus split them in half, and ever since, we’ve been wandering the world looking for our missing part.

It’s a myth that feels ancient and intimate at the same time. Not romantic in a soft way, but existential. Love as recognition. Desire as memory. The idea that something essential was taken from us, and that our relationships are shaped by that absence.

But I have to be honest about where this tattoo really began.

It wasn’t originally my idea to tattoo these spherical figures. The first person to bring this myth into my practice was Vale — a long-time client, and someone very dear to me. We’ve worked together many times over the years, and there’s a level of trust there that allows ideas to unfold slowly, without pressure. She came to me specifically wanting a design based on this exact myth.

I made several sketches for her. Different approaches. Different moods. But none of them quite clicked for her at that moment. The timing wasn’t right. The image didn’t settle into her body the way it needed to. So we let it go — without forcing anything.

But I couldn’t let go of the idea.

Something about those spherical bodies stayed with me. The simplicity. The strangeness. The way the myth speaks through form rather than explanation. I kept the drawing in my portfolio, not as a finished answer, but as a possibility waiting for the right person.

And then Johanna Frieg came along.

She saw the drawing and immediately knew it was right for her. No hesitation. No adjustments. She felt it in her body — especially in the context of a leg tattoo, where movement and balance play such an important role. Suddenly, the image found its place.

That’s something I’ve learned to trust over the years: some images don’t belong to the first person who inspires them. They need time. They need circulation. They need to pass through different hands, conversations, and bodies before they arrive where they’re meant to be.

In that sense, this tattoo is also a quiet tribute to Vale. She brought the myth into our shared space. She planted the seed. Even though the image didn’t end up on her skin, her presence is still inside it. Without her curiosity, this piece wouldn’t exist in the way it does now.

The final drawing carries more than one influence. Alongside the myth itself, there’s also a clear dialogue with Fornasetti-inspired imagery — those poetic, slightly surreal bodies that feel decorative and philosophical at the same time. The result isn’t an illustration of the story, but a distilled gesture. Something symbolic without being literal. Familiar, but slightly off.

That’s what I love about how ideas move through tattooing.

They’re never fixed. They travel from person to person. They change tone. They accumulate layers. By the time they reach the skin, they’re already carrying multiple histories — the myth, the artist, the first client who imagined it, the second who embodied it.

This piece holds all of that.

An ancient story about separation and desire.
A conversation between friends.
A drawing that waited.
A body that welcomed it.

Nothing here belongs to just one person. And that’s what makes it complete.


text by nOT

References:

Anselm Feuerbach, “Das Gastmahl” (2nd version, 1874). On the left, the drunk Alkibiades, standing in the centre, the host Agathon, on the right Socrates and Aristophanes.

The face of the opera singer Lina Cavalieri, Piero Fornasetti's muse.

jorge cruz
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