I spy with my eager eyes a lounging woman across the sky. Without clothes or a silhouette, the picture is foggy. The form is subtle creating a vignette. The woman I dream of, love and desire doesn't even know how she lights my fire.
Who am I? "Peeping Tom," my subconscious states. I have nothing to do but sit at my window and gaze. And the woman? Someone. Without a name or face. Pablo Picasso likes to call her Female Nude.
I reside in a high-rise apartment building. Female Nude lives in the complex opposite mine. That is how I met her through glass, between buildings, without an introduction. After a full day of school I slowly arrive at home knowing that all the usual time consuming, teeth clenching, eye popping and head splitting homework awaits completion. She is my only sigh of relief. I do not call myself a spy; my eyes just like to digest.
Pablo Picasso, 1937, Guernica, protest against Fas...
Pablo Picasso 1962
"Boy with a Pipe (Garçon à la pipe)" (1905) Oil ...My eyes glance downward to see that it is 6:30 p.m. Right around the time she arrives into my day.
Her skin is the first thing I see. Fast, harsh shapes of neutrals integrate crèmes of taupe. Dark flesh tones lift the slightest touch of peach to my eyes. The fitted shape of her body is abstract, strong and misdirected. The image of Female Nude appears so misguided. The restricting curtains on her window distort the scene and motivate my imagination to really see her.
Her body is broken down into multiples of generalized basic shapes. The roundness in her shoulders is converted into three straight lines. Just short of a ninety-degree angle.
Her upper body creates a large triangle that points downward. This is the only real shape that I can see realistically and makes sense to me. This shape contains the...