I’d like to write you these few words, in your language, to thank you for your sincere – and sometimes childish – eye on me.
You’re right when you say the relationship between the artist and his naked model is not a matter of sex, it’s more about a cold sight. For me it’s simpathy in the air, imperceptible like pollen but whose effects are unpredictable and devastating.
Your hand on the canvas, your look on a negative are my reflection in real life. No one except me, this poor and silly girl, has the opportunity to see herself from the outside, exactly the same way someone else looks at me. I’m thankful every day to you for this gift.
But I know you don’t like this kind of assumptions or statements about your work and I’m not writing to you for these. When you create, I’m a rude material in your hand, the symmetrical side of your pupil, and I’m so proud…
You said it’s not about love. Well, Man, try to find a name. It’s about your eyes that open me wide, like a father who spreads his child’s legs to teach him to walk. It’s about the lover’s fingers that open wide legs to teach me to love. You say it’s a cold room, but your look is able to penetrate my internal organs, my deepest dirty thoughts, better than anything else. Don’t think , you said, when I’m from behind. If you think something, that ends up on your shoulders and then it falls in picture.
Every time I’m yours, I admire your power to choose lights and shadows and I can feel clearly your fingers opening me, like a flipping page, your camera that climbs on my uterus, on my stomach, the palm of your hand that keeps track of my breast. Finally your thumb and forefinger open my mouth widely, touching my teeth, then spread my nostrils and my eyes… At this point I’m so done that you can use my hair like a chain between your joie de vivre and mine, so that my rude popular bodily material could become a masterpiece. Like the God’s breath on Adamo.
You’re right when you say it’s not a matter of sex. It’s a matter of touch between human and divine forces. So thank you for having me, in your personal, reflecting, disturbing way.
All my love,