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Pauline my dearest... |
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written
by joeplumb / 10.24.2005 |
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| Sculpture and movement |
1 of 1 |
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Assignment |
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As I entered the room with Canova’s sculpture of Pauline Bonaparte, I saw only a sliver of her face. I was drawn in by the unknown. Who was this figure? As I walked around her, I found out more and more about Pauline. The sole fame flickered, her golden face seeming to move. Then I saw the comfort with which she lay there. This was not a woman who was foreign to this position, she was used to it, and the two pillows under her right arm attest to this. As I continue in my circle I am drawn away from Pauline and toward the mattress she so eloquently lays on. I’m drawn towards the sculpture, not so much because of the female flesh but because of the seemingly soft mattress. Then I look up at Pauline, and see that there is no room for me. I am left wandering around her, her eyes looking farther and farther away as I circle around. She has rejected me, and now mocks me, her half smile still pointing to where I used to be. Just as I am about to leave her, I see the apple in her hand. It was hard to see before, but now it has been revealed to me. I want to go back to where I was before, to return into her graces, to know this beauty from the start again. But I continue around now, and I just make out her fashionable hair. The flame makes an outline around it, but its dark, just like I am. I’m out of her graces, in the dark and coldness which is so contrasted by my scene only moments before. Now I leave, alone and dejected by Pauline.
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