Flackmoth Looking at an art book of Nudes
Flackmoth is not one to create feuds
with anyone who might be fond of nudes,
and though he’s far from prudish
he’d like to see a few dressed stylish.
(He’s of the view that the imagination
titillates far better by suggestion.)
First on his list is the Venus de Milo
with her falling robe and armless torso.
What she needs most in her predicament
are a pair of hands to cover her embarrassment –
to pull up her robe and cover her bosom
partially, at least, as well as her bottom;
but, please, insists Flackmoth, no bra,
breasts as firm as hers are fine just as they are.
Then there’s Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus
supinely stretched beneath a tree on canvas.
She’s apparently developed a stamina
for avoiding colds, or worse, pneumonia.
Still, she might do with a warm covering
to take the chill off an Italian morning,
yet avoid obscuring her feminine ideal –
Giorgione liked his women less than real.
As for the Birth of Venus by Botticelli,
hers is a figure best suited to a bikini.
Had Flackmoth painted her, to hear him tell,
she’d be on a surfboard not a scallop shell,
amped to the hilt and skimming through tubes
of water at Waikiki with surfer dudes.
Finally there’s Goya’s La Maja Desnuda
followed by Manet’s more brazen Olympia.
Both, then as now, shocked prudish society
by a glaring lack of clothes and modesty.
Nudity for its own sake should not be loathed,
opines Flackmoth. Who’s born fully clothed?
Then, too, choosing clothing suitable for
lady’s of that profession could prove far more
difficult than for others, since, the men
they draw prefer flesh at its minimum.
But imagine, lights up Flackmoth, if Picasso
had painted these ladies like he did so
shockingly his Desmoiselles? – All that nudity
disfigured by cubistic angularity!
Copyright © Maurice Rigoler | Year Posted 2016