Free Two Americans in Paris by Julia Ritt Page A

nose and cheeks appear to shimmer and your pale skin, subtly burnished by the sun, glows radiantly.
    As Professor begins to speak, I refocus most of my attention on the painting.
    “Even though the avant-garde was going on at the same time, there were still artists sticking to Baroque aesthetics,” Professor says. “Venus is a classical goddess. This style derives from David and Ingres. Its emphasis is on line. Color is just filled in. Is she confrontational?” he asks, drawing our attention to her passive body language and soft facial expression. He answers his own question: “No. She lies down and takes it. Her eyes are half-glazed. We can look at her but she doesn’t look back. You don’t hide her sex because she’s the goddess of love. It’s a PG-13 movie, officially coded. The putti’s placement is all highly planned to evoke formal rhythms,” Professor says, moving his hand along the bobbing, winged infants. “This would be displayed at the salon and men could bring their wives and look at this. The women would say ‘Oh, woman is such a beautiful thing” and their husbands would say ‘Yes,’ and everyone is happy. Like all classical works, she is painted without pubic hair. Cabanel, having only ever seen classical representations of nude women, experienced quite a fright on his wedding night. But that’s an aside, a filthy art historical aside.”
    We giggle and Professor leads us away, striding toward Manet. On our way, we pass a white marble statue of a woman lying with her hips contorted toward us, her head thrown so far backwards it is not visible from our vantage point. I imagine myself in the same position, my body on display for your pleasure.
    Professor stops at Manet’s Olympia and looks at the painting with keen appreciation before speaking about it. Professor’s admiration of this painting makes me wonder how your opinion of it compares to his. I look over at you and your eyes are fastened on Olympia’s stark, snowy breasts and modeled abdomen, her fingernail-less hands, your attention fully absorbed. To see how focused you are when appreciating art fills me with an uplifting warmth. I imagine that everything you learn from Professor becomes a mark on the diverse, multidimensional map of your mind and that with time you might become more like him.
    “This is the most important painting of the nineteenth century, probably the most important painting you’ll see in this class,” Professor says. “There is more meaning in every drop of paint in this painting than any of the other paintings in this museum.” He pauses to think over this statement. “Yes,” he nods. “Tons of scholarly writing has been done just on the placement of her hand. She’s staring at us—she has a poker face. Adultery is a major issue in polite society at the time this was painted. Courtesans had various high bourgeois patrons who would come visit them in their little love palaces. She has her hand over her sex. Is this about shame? No. She’s very direct, looks right at you.” He draws a line between her gaze and us—we are both his attentive students and Olympia’s attentive audience. “The painting is titled Olympia , who is a classical Greek goddess. How does this change our understanding of the painting?”
    “Manet is playing with labels and representation,” Mermaid offers.
    Professor nods. “Yes. Manet is a DJ—remixing things we already know. It’s based on a Venetian nude painting, Venus of Urbino by Titian. In Titian’s there’s a sleeping dog at the woman’s feet. Dogs represented fealty and marital bliss. In Olympia there’s a startled black cat at her feet.” He rounds his hand over the cat’s arched back. “Baudelaire called cats ‘sugary vampires,’ hah. She has many men. You’re always the stranger, always alienated. It’s harshly illuminated. Manet suppresses his middle tones. He’s outlined her. There is very little rounding of form or modeling. Sometimes the line is