Saturday, January 15, 2011

1.15.2011: 3inaroom

The lights are on, for chrissakes--turn them out.
Cover yourself.
No, not you, I'm painting you.
Sure it's cold, it makes you more pronounced.

1 comment:

Sian Griffiths said...

This reminds me of one of my favorite ever sonnets:

One face looks out from all his canvases,
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans:
We found her hidden just behind those screens,
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.
A queen in opal or in ruby dress,
A nameless girl in freshest summer-greens,
A saint, an angel -- every canvas means
The same one meaning, neither more nor less.
He feeds upon her face by day and night,
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him,
Fair as the moon and joyful as the light:
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;
Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.

(Christina Rossetti, In an Artist's Studio)