Nude
circa early 1900s (?)
Her skin is nearly
blinding. Her torso is rather long, too long, and her neck is held stiffly. She
is more like an overgrown marionette than an actual human, with features so
surreally perfect but abnormal at the same time.
A light source in itself,
the white, ethereal pallor of her body radiates her indifference to or
unawareness of the audience behind her. She is cool, untroubled - she is
wrapped in lazy thoughts spurred by the embroidered blue-bell birds flitting
across that heavy golden curtain. Echoing their elegant tail feathers, a satin
toile holds up her hair on which a rich light, from either a lamp or the
outdoors, casts feather-like rays that seem to sprout from a sort of communal
stem, its 'roots' buried in her tight bun. Her elbow rests casually on the back
of a chaise longue; her right arm shields the gentle curve of her breast; and
with a long swoop her spine, articulated with a hint of shadow, arcs downwards
to her bottom slightly rouged by the reflection of the striped fabric. The
seduction of this woman lies in her act of not awknowledging or caring for
us, her audience. We are curious, maybe even aroused, by her lack of a face and
a name that, in truth, are as equally mysterious as the stunning allure of her
skin, crystal-pure and untouchable. We will stare at her for ages to come, but
never will she reveal even the slightest extra inch of her body to us, intent
on keeping the beauty of the unknown at its peak.
