Wilhelmina and her daughters. -Ancient victims and modern persecutions by Alessandra Redaelli Milan, 1260. Under a warm wind that glues clothes to the skin, the waiting crowd quivers. Women, with one or two children tightly wrapped in their arms despite the heat, elbow their way forward to the front row. They want to see the saint. Above all they want her to see their children, touch them, impose upon them her miraculous hands. And finally something is made out on the horizon. Announced by a cloud of dust, three horses are approaching the city gate. You could not imagine a more humble arrival. Riding in the middle is her: Wilhelmina, the holy daughter of the king of Bohemia. She is 50 years old, an old woman at the time. But despite the clothes that cover her tightly, up to her throat, and the veil that hides her hair and face, the people swear to see the divine spark in her bright and darting eyes. The crowd is buzzing, waves open in two wings shaking their hands and invoking blessings. The woman smiles, reaches out from her horse, touches the children’s heads. The monks of Clairvaux will welcome Wilhelmina, in that hot summer. And the woman will remain in the abbey until her death, in 1281, where she is buried as a saint. Attentive to the needs of the people, dedicated to helping the needy, with her delicate ways, Wilhelmina became an authority during those twenty years. Gentle in her manners, she was also a trenchant woman with clear ideas. Wilhelmina's theory is very simple: the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit is female. In a woman she entrusts the most ineffable figure of faith. And, as one obvious consequence, the simplicity of the people began to worship Wilhelmina as the female reincarnation of Christ. Yet, in all this, the church sees no heresy, and Wilhelmina died blessed. But then something happens. Maifreda da Pirovano, leader of  Wilhelmina’s followers, goes even further on the feminist motion. The true God can only be female, she says, because only in a woman can be found the world’s salvation. And with a revolutionary gesture, she proclaims herself “Papessa” (Pope). The church, at this point, intervenes, and does so in an incredibly brutal way, given the tolerance shown to date. Wilhelmina’s followers and Maifreda are sent to the stake and the tomb of the Boema is emptied. Winkler and Noah started from the figure of Wilhelmina when they began thinking about this series of photographs. Wilhelmina so beloved by the people, worshiped as a female version of Christ and her followers so horribly persecuted. The combative Maifreda punished for her temerity. The woman who spends herself for the others and suffers the terrible consequences. Naturally, the list of women victims could start here and never end. But to exhaust the meaning of these young “Christs” as a complaint of harassment against women would be inexcusably limiting. It is too simple It is true that no image is more immediate and readable - and it tells a lot that, a year and a half ago, a campaign against violence to women, accompanied by posters with women photographed in the position of the crucifixion, was banned - but it is also true that these girls have much more to say.

Slender but athletic, beautiful, swollen lips, perfect breasts that show off, the “Christs” of Winkler and Noah are, despite everything, the antithesis of any glamorous winking. The challenge issued here by the two photographers is particularly subtle. But basically you could not expect anything less: they are champions at upsetting perceptive certainties. Just think of the Puppets, the beautiful terrifying children-puppets of two years ago, delicate - and lethal - complaint about how modern children are prematurely turned into adults. Yes, the challenge is subtle: for gourmets. Because, it would not be a problem to find pain stricken women, not beautiful, faded. Pain, blood, martyrdom and horror in the viewer. Goods easy to read and spend. Instead Winkler and Noah made a different choice. Because the stakes are more complex. It is the modern trap of beauty. What we read into their smooth, even sensual images, behind those flawless skins, is a kind of deadly disillusionment. The outcome of this mad rush toward an unquenchable need for perfection. Young contemporary women, all beautiful, all inevitably the same – in the end – a monstrous compact army, who bet their fate on breast size or leg length. Girls younger and younger, terrified by a hopeless competition on their appearances rather than their abilities, who comb the web looking for the fastest way to overcome their hunger, to protrude their pelvic bones out of jeans ever tighter. To disappear. And desperate women, old in their thirties, intelligent women thrown into depression by a falling cheek. This is the society of “Be beautiful and shut up”, where the ultimate goal is an appearance on a reality show, where the granddaughters of those who dreamed of eloping on a white horse with  prince charming – daughters of those who burned their bras in the streets – now dream of eloping on the Lamborghini of a famous football player. So even if you try to do something important, for instance, culture or politics, your credibility will be measured on the strength of your eyelid and the firmness of your cheekbone. So why strive? Indeed, if there is a brain, it is wiser to hide it, or show it gradually. You never know. Best smile, nod, contract abdominals and wait for better times. We did not even notice how, but a coup de main swept away fifty years of achievements. As if nothing had happened. What we are witnessing is the desperate defeat of the contemporary woman. Daughter by birth of feminists, recanted by them. Without wasting words, without frills or unnecessary details, Winkler and Noah tell it so. With a beautiful girl, two pieces of wood, a little 'blood (not much) and a depth roughly stitched. Besides, for Noah and Winkler the body is never just body. When it comes to them, now we know, never make the mistake of stopping at the first reading. What about the nudes of Short life?  The agreeableness, as always happens with them, is the first quality that catches your eye. Breathtaking views stretch out as far as the eye can see, snow-clad mountains, hills, forests lost in the night. Or on the other hand, scenarios are sumptuous architectures, geometric games of  stone. The idyll does not break when the eye catches the body. Why should it? The crime scene is so carefully polished, so alluring. The girl with the perfect curves that floats in the pool can only be beautiful, and her story is certainly tempting: a summer thriller to read under a beach umbrella,  in a wild transfer between wild parties, forbidden loves, sexy murderers and dramatic moments. And then those curves that call each other like in a symphony: the hips with hills in the background, the outstretched arms with the shadows cast by trees in the dim light of dawn. It is all so harmonious, so reassuring…The real meaning of death creeps into our conscience only gradually, when we are already hooked by the idyllic vision. Like a cold chill brought about by a window, carelessly left open. The smile freezes our faces. But we do not stop looking. We cannot. Winkler and Noah have struck again.

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