there’s more life in the paintings than in the women who posed for them. the freedom of the lines and the half seen colors have an honesty and breath denied to the real women. you can almost hear him say “forget to die” to his models, trying to break the wall that separates them from honesty. but they are incapable; too warm, too breathing too fleshy and so he paints them with crackled line and seeping tones. haughty in the canvas they live, naked and exposed, wanton and beautiful, untouched and impossible.