Pandora's Box

You are outside the comfort zone and entering the fearful, heady, sexually charged world of that terrifying Everywoman, Lulu.

W dare you to enter Lulu’s world. Here is decadence and decay, theatricality and fear; a world aching with pain and beauty – as delicious as it is complex.

Be delighted, be shocked, be seduced.

Lulu would expect no less.

At the heart of “Pandora’s Box” lies Lulu. My dark heroine, my cracked lover, my downfall. She has lived under my skin for some time now, both fascinating and repelling me. And yet, the longer I live with her, the less I understand. I have come to dread the question ‘Why Lulu? Why Pandora’s Box?’ There is no pat answer, no simple analysis. And this, I believe is at the heart of her allure. She defies me and the world. She will not be captured or boxed. She slips around my subconscious, always out of reach. She is neither mother nor virgin; saint not martyr, good nor bad. She is. Glorious and dangerous, deathly and erotic. She mouths the words ‘I am’ and we all come  running. We scrabble at her feet for sex and pleasure, excitement and ultimately death.

So is she a monster or a femme fatale? A cad or a murderess? Probably all these things, but do you know? I don’t care. In these days of soundbites, adverts and spoon-fed docu-soap morality, I can’t get enough of Lulu’s complexity. I love the fact that I don’t understand her, that the story doesn’t give any answers, that she is as complicated as life itself. In fact, she is life – what we are frightened of and what we crave. She gives shape to the deep needs and flaws of human existence. This is uncomfortable, exhilarating, shit scaring stuff.

Fuck me, the view is vast.