La Grande Odalisque

The anatomist’s delight, or his dilemma? Yes, she is... Odalisque... how could she be less than perfect? Surely Ingres didn’t get it wrong when he painted her nude flesh so voluptuous as to be tactile, reclining oh so languid on her left side, alone in this exotic blue velvet draped room, looking directly at me over her right shoulder, betraying nothing of her inner dialogue. She’s aware of my presence; how could it be otherwise? Surely she must feel the heat of my rapt voyeur’s stare on her sinuous, sensuous back. Which brings me to the issue of anatomy, the facts of her body. According to anatomists who’ve given long hours to the study of her bones, hidden though they may be, she’s spectacularly deformed. You see, her head is too small, her neck too long, her arms aren’t the same length (the left is shorter than the right), she has five extra lumbar vertebrae that twist her spine into an impossible relationship with her pelvis, thereby rotating her lower body so as to enhance her porcelain sexuality. Speaking strictly for myself in this matter, I couldn’t care less about the facts. I’m delighted that art trumped science, that reality can be elongated, rotated, and manipulated to achieve perfection. http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jean_Auguste_Dominique_Ingres,_La_Grande_Odalisque,_1814.jpg