None of Picasso’s paintings bears the title Creation of the World. Our story of Adam and Eve was created after his imaginary brushstrokes. The heavenly bliss of a mother’s lap is outlined against the empty canvas, while the drama of creation becomes embodied in the first human couple. Their passion slumbers around their lowest vertebra and their desire reaches sky-high. You need a ladder to reach it. They climb step by step up the rungs of can and can’t, stopping level with the crowns of the trees. The fruit is theirs, and with it the fall. Every newborn carries the pain of touching ground. The task of reversing their fortune awaits them: the real challenge, my children, is to create an eden outside of Eden.