la maja desnuda

when i was nine years old i found myself standing in an art museum in madrid with my mom.

it was one of those schmancy art museums, one of the important ones i was supposed to care about. in my memory the floors were a jasper-y marble, soft yellow lights illuminating the paintings lining the walls.

and we were looking at the maja pendant paintings. la maja vestida hanging on the left, y la desnuda on the right.

and i was so scared to look at the maja desnuda, because i was afraid i would do it wrong.

i was shaking in my little velcro sneakers over this painting. i badly, desperately wanted to look at her - i wanted to spend hours studying the colors, and the lighting, and figuring out how the artist made the pillows look so velvety and her skin so soft. i wanted to stare at her curly brown hair and her pale shoulders and the curve of her nose.

and yes, of course, the tits.