Monday, 9:24 AM ART 155

 

Someone kicks the back of my seat

...the Ancient Greeks made statues of male nudes…

A pencil taps against a notebook.

...female nudity was unheard of…

Eyes droop with every word that falls from that southern-accented mouth.

…the first female nude statue in history…

My ears perk up, cognizant of the image coming up on the screen before my eyes can react.

...Aphrodite of Knidos…

Aphrodite of Knidos

...immodest and sacreligious…

Curves and lines and movement.

...movement and curvature…

The classroom around me fades to dust, and the sculpture fills my headspace.

...she was bathing…

She was bathing!

...and someone walked in on her…

My face warms as if I’m the one intruding on this—this goddess’ privacy.

…naked, not nude.  Nude is heroic. Naked is a violation…

Naked, nude—it doesn’t matter.  I feel euphoria.

...Aphrodite, Aphrodite, Aphrodite…

 Someone else has to know what I’m feeling.  It must be written all over my face.

 

Thoughts fly through my mind a mile a minute.  

Ancient history don’t fail me now! 

I know that I’m Pygmalion; Aphrodite—my Galatea.

...the Romans made many copies…

No!

...the single most copied sculpture in antiquity…

No!  She is mine!

...the Romans are the only reason we know what the sculpture looks like…

Well, I guess I should be thankful.

If anyone in here could read minds… would they like what they see?

This pinnacle of female beauty would be the only thing they’d see.

My single-minded focus paints my thoughts like Picasso.

But Praxiteles sculpts the depth of my desire with a dexterity unmatched by modern artists.

...Aphrodite, Aphrodite, Aphrodite…

I’m in love!