bodies & words
I can’t think about being sexy. I have never been able to understand how certain qualities can be inherently present or lacking, regardless of effort. I think of desire instead.
I tell you, “I’ve never done this before,” when you suggest the idea. I am instantly aware of, and somewhat comforted by, the cliché. I remember learning, somewhere along the way, that males are visual creatures.
What does desire look like? What does it look for? These are the questions I consider as I arrange myself in front of the camera. The timer beeps its 5-second warning and I hold a pose on my bed. What do I look like? What are you looking for? In love, there are two things: bodies and words.
“I love how you never look at the camera,” you say. “It’s sexy.”
I knew you would paint me; it was as inevitable as film darkening when exposed to light. Females are expectant creatures—subject and objectified—the difference between what is hoped for and what is expected.
The painting now hanging on your wall gains notice from visitors who compliment your skill. It’s the outline of a beautiful body, something lovely to look at, the face mostly obscured and forgettable, displayed in such a way that it begs no questions about the subject’s identity, whether she’s real or created. And if someone were to ask, I imagine you would say, “It’s not important. That’s the point. She could be anyone.”
