Humans throw balls back and forth. People depict sienna horses on a rock somewhere and mouthspray paint at their hands and dance around a fire. And some are very good. Schools are started. Institutes parade and indoctrify a tradition. Look how we do things right. Inevitably the girls are starved to perfection like rats and prostituted to the purveyors of amateur idealization. Degas, and Matisse, and Nureyev, all dancing. Dancing for love. Observers of form still and moving. Lennart’s dream of an ideal female utopia has round lovely women. It is a saving grace really. Like his three graces. Like Matisse’s round lovelies. A more perfect world. A rubenesque world. A world becoming racaille.
A world where perfection is put to one side in favor of happiness.