View Article: No; I *Don't* Care
University of Washington Honors Program in Rome


No; I *Don't* Care
Sculpture and movement 1 of 1

  Assignment
 
I want to run and leap onto that mattress. Its texture—like the wrinkled back of a blubbery sea lion—is dreadfully convincing to the eye. The figure of the woman does not sink as far into the cushion as I am quite sure the real Pauline Bonaparte once did; plump as she was. This idealized rendering that lacks the natural wrinkles and sagging excess of the true woman nonetheless draws me into the story that started forming in my mind the moment my eyes met the alluring posterior view of the sculpture. What does she hold in her left arm that traipses across that bountiful thigh? What face belongs to this voluptuous body that knows no modesty? A beautiful face with a complexion of porcelain, partnered with curiously obedient hair whose curls seem to dance their way towards a wonderfully formed occipital bun. Her firm, yet rounded body is a playground for light as it jumps between smooth curves and shapely protrusions. She wears no adornments other than a simple and elegant wristband of Asian birth. A token of reconciliation, her brother sent it after a recent feud regarding her perceived irreverence towards wifely duty. Submission has yet to be embraced by the woman, or by any other Bonaparte, for that matter. Her outspoken dissatisfaction with all things Italian (which just never quite achieved the same tastefulness as French things) had fallen upon the hardened, intolerant ears of a Roman husband. Though her oral protests were silenced, nothing could subdue the bold expression of allegiance to her French identity; only new means of expression would be adopted. Posture is a lovely instrument of non-verbal communication, and Pauline Bonaparte does not hesitate to use it in the company of royal guests and papal dignitaries. She now sits effortlessly but intentionally, propping her own head in a perfectly vertical orientation to effectively proclaim, “I don’t care.”