I am a reclining nude.
You can step over me, big man.
I didn’t say you may though.
Now you’ve ruined a perfect composition. Go on, shuffle up those stairs. Your lack of sensitivity makes me sad. Like, cat-sad. Real sad.
Do cats talk to you? I mean your cats. Or stray cats. ‘Cause my does. Not verbally. Emotionally. Sometimes, I understand it, but I don’t think that happens very often. The Understanding, I mean.
There was an artist who loved cats and teenage girls. A very good artist, regardless of what today’s feministically tolerant society intolerant of any implication at teenage girl sexuality thinks.
Balthus. A French painter, whose family was at the heart of French cultural elite. And he moved to Switzedland to live in a log house (a big one). That speaks volumes.
Check him out. And no, he was not a pervert. He could capture the budding grace and sexuality of a woman inside a sleeping teenage girl, and believed that it was something that existed very naturally in cats. Cats, who, unlike adult women, did not have to hide what’s inside. Balthus was born before feminism. Please forgive him for this. Now, look at these two paintings and tell me, please, which trick did he use to infuse them with sexuality? And where is the conflict in these paintings? If you missed my posts on the centre of conflict, or contrapunto in paintings, check out these posts: conflict in Van Gogh’s portraits and Contrapunto in still life. ANSWERS TOMORROW!