puddingmouse wrote:
The way that kind of lust presents itself is mostly wishful-thinking and projections onto the lust object, rather than engaging with the other person for who they are. So it's not reality.
Of
course it's not reality. It's a painting.
puddingmouse wrote:
Whenever I see it, I feel like saying 'stop dreaming, wake up and realise we're as human as you are.' Men can write and paint sex interestingly, for me, only when they realise that fact.
It's not so much that it's teenage girls being lusted over that bothers me, it's that it's an unrealistic projection of who they are that bothers me more. It's always 2-dimensional lust, not understanding or love - which it can't be because the relationship is too unequal for that.
http://books.google.com/books?id=ARNKAz ... ows&f=trueRichard Mason wrote:
The creative impulse had its roots in sexuality, and it was no more chance that I enjoyed painting Malay women than other artists enjoyed painting nudes. (For any painter who claimed that the female body only interested him as "abstract form" was talking rubbish--he might as well paint pillows). They aroused in me feelings which, denied direct expression, had found expression in another form, and gave to my pictures whatever merit they might possess; such feelings as Stella had never aroused. And, of course, she had known it. "If he paints Malay women and not me, he can't love me", had been her instinctive reaction, and I had thought the argument unsubtle, only proving her abysmal ignorance of the higher motives of art. But of course she had been right. I had never loved her--never for a moment.