behind the curtain

She sits down in front of the mirror. She’s comfortable there, looking at her blank face. Her instruments, her jars and tubes are lined up neatly in front of her, but they must wait patiently in their places, like audience members waiting for the curtain.
The lamp shifts a soft glow over her cheek, through her hair and carresses her shoulder.
She adjusts her strap, the black silk a welcome contrast against her pearl soft skin. She starts below, takes her sheer black shadowed stockings. Covering her toes and spreading them over her imperfections – imperfections only her eyes can see, but now hidden to all.
She continues, plucking and smoothing the thin cover of silk. As they stop mid-thigh she lets her hand rest gently. There’s a flicker of movement, but she cannot pause her routine for pleasure. The desire must be ignored, she needs to fasten – and she does.
She then moves her hand slowly over the table.She doesn’t need to look, her hand knows its way. Paint, scratch, flick, curl, colour.
The same routine – the daily painting, covering of flaws unseen by others.
Her lips become full, shine like drops of morning frost on a well-ripened cherry.
Her eyes are darkened and shaded and smudged. Her soul peers out from between fattened lashes, it yearns for an escape. Framing her eyes sit two lines so plucked and preened, even their owner has forgotten their true form.
She dusts the fine cover as a finishing touch… her eyes slide along the queer shaped bottles – each clamouring to override her senses. She smooths the strong one – she needs the strength tonight- behind her ears, on her wrists and between her breasts, for her own pleasure more than someone else’s.
She looks away, then back , to check that it is her face she painted into the frame.
She slips the diamonds through her ears and lies more atop her well formed and positioned breasts.
She stands and appreciates her sparkle, bought for her by untold hours of toil.
As she moves towards the door, she leaves behind the unpainted girl, sitting on the stool, lipstick smudged and holes in her stockings, but a broad baby-teeth smile on her face.
She can paint on this face tonight, but she can never find that smile again.

behind the curtain

fillette

Joined December 2007

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Artist's Description

I like elegance.. i don’t know that this completely represents the picture in my mind

Artwork Comments

  • fillette
  • burntblue
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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