Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Three Views of a Nude :
What he was able to capture in her remained solid, and prominent, as a blushed moment of shared space, shared love. She never gave a thought to the Work once it had taken on a life of its own, reeling through galleries, state-by-state. The Model, photographed, became iconic; risen beyond any singular painting, any singular Nude, in the last twenty-five years.
Of course, in her profession she'd never given a thought to being in love with the Artist; whether, she'd been beneath the man's brush, or viewed through his lens, there always was that distance, separating her body from the merely sexual inflections of thought. Never, had she succumbed to the Artist's desirous gaze, or the slow peeling away of her soul, along with her clothes. It was a job, plain and simple.
And, yet, beyond any of her imaginings, it was those three views of her nude; those iconic remnants he'd let loose in the world, which pushed her over the edge. In his eyes she had been pieced, and gone pliant, as one imbued with grace; a touch-up here, bringing out each area of her body, making it central, centering upon the premise of innocence, or embarrassment, or the first flush of love.
Once, he carried her in his heart, the ideal fell away, and the body he'd snapped with his Nikon, breathed something new. His photos, retouched, and brimming in color, began to seem beyond possession.
She was startled by the completion, the end-work. She was feeling weak in her professional stance, her feelings, unarmored and so visibly exposed. She gazed at his creation, seeing herself quite revealed; every, pent-up parcel of passion was there, in the curve of her breasts and the cleft, shadowed, of her pussy; the concentration of reds, falling upon her face and lower body, said it all.
He placed his hand upon the small of her back, guiding her into pose. She stood before a striped back-drop.
Now, long after, review and notices and accolades, they're entwined. She strokes his hair, and brushes her lips against his. The room gives light, dimmed, naturally. His earthy, understated, sexuality, is more than just a vision, a painting, a photograph, or sell.
She rolls on the bed, laughing, in his arms. This entering, and exiting of love, and all its pieces, could set the world on fire. Her sex, her very life, glowed,
A body. A gift. A moment.
"Three Views of a Nude"