Blond Bather - Auguste Renoir
She exudes youth and fecundity but also a certain wisdom. Is this her knowledge or does it belong to Renoir? The upturned mouth and the heaviness of her eyes suggest inevitability, an acceptance.
She is in concord with her surroundings; has become one with the sea and the land. There on her rock, the short expanse of blue-black separates her from an accessible civilisation just beyond. But this distance does not exclude her.
To a child, she may be a mermaid. To a woman, hope. To a man, desire.
Have you ever seen a work of art that you must step into? Something so commanding that it consumes you and you lose yourself in its beauty, its devilment, its mysteriousness? You become for a while entwined, inseparable? You live in that space for a few seconds, minutes, hours? Your perception is altered or you glimpse another way of being? Of feeling?
Or maybe not? Because that is just as valid too, isn’t it?