Mensur Mask

I was still in my boyhood, when I met men with their Mensur scar on their faces. A sign of courage, of ruthlessness. One of them was a musician. When I first imagined this mask, its mouth and the wound, red paint oozing onto surface, I thought of an imaginary vagina. I almost heard the whiffle exhaling out of the cuts, those same wounds that in 1683 a Copt master of sword inflicted to his victims along his search of a way out of his destiny (Dictionary of the Khazars).