Sculptor Henry Moore and his work are eulogized in this memorial speech delivered to UNESCO House, Paris, October 1986. It is in these terms that I liked to talk about Henry Moore while he was still alive. that news of his death has reached us, I say again: Henry Moore is one of greatest sculptors since master of Venus of Willendorf. Living, in sense that language of Egyptian priests, carvers of immortal figures of Luxor, has given to that word. Living, in sense of life that transcends death. Living, in sense of surpassing time-in contrast to time that passes, in contrast to time that flows like a river, 'beyond-time' does not pass, it is. 'Beyond-time' does not ebb away, it is inexhaustible source of transcendent life. I feel this each time I come face to face with a work of Henry Moore. Thus it was, one fine day in Paris, I was welcomed in garden of Rodin Museum by two seated, majestic figures in bronze, King and Queen. I was not alone at this audience: a gentleman, older and better dressed than I, wearing a dark suit for occasion, ferreted around sculpture, obviously worried. Turning to me, he said, Excuse me, but people don't look like this! You are right, sir, I faltered in language of Shakespeare, living people don't look like this-but life looks like this. The gentleman pointed his finger to sky and said with conviction, Now I understand. The title of Book of Dead, often wrongly translated, should be Book of Life. Life has birth within it as well as death; both come together, forming an indissoluble whole. It is great figure reclining on lawn here, in front of UNESCO House, that taught me how to see, at same time, sensual woman and procreating mother as well as recumbent, dying figure. Henry Moore's Pierre Szekely (sculptor), 3 bis, Impasse Villiers de l'Isle Adam, 75020 Paris, France. Text of Henry Moore memorial speech delivered at UNESCO House, Paris, October 1986. Translated from French by Josephine de Linde. book of life; shelter drawings he made in his sketchbook in shadowy passages of London underground during air raids of Second World War in his capacity as official war artist, testify to his great discovery. In standing, sitting, crouching or lying-down figures, he saw fear, fear of death. He saw fear eating into human flesh, as erosion wears away stones of ocean; stones that he collected with predilection. For him, bones, skull of an elephant, furnished other proofs of internal-external life of forms. In seeing 'filled' spaces interlaced with solid forms, I am reminded of a poem by Lao Tse called the action of negative. The wheel turns thanks to space between its spokes; only emptiness of cup renders it useful, comments Old Boy. Nowadays, he would say perhaps that void sculpted by Moore is harder than stone since stone itself cannot