A good bio of Petravicius with several of the artist's black and white prints can be found online here.
The instrument reads like another figure, another body moaning and leaning back against the woman in red gloves. She does not play; she speaks to the frowning apparition who seems to rise and float above the floor. Maybe the haunt is the celloist's self doubt, and she is explaining how she has achieved a state of ecstasy while playing Rachmaninov. As with Saint Theresa, there will be piercings, but no blood.
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