THE PINK LADY

The Pink Lady

Nostalgia.

... C’est une Poupée who says “Yes, yes, yeeessss!..” Who says Amen to whatever may come... A cuddly and consenting Doll... An unabashed doll... The Lady Heroine of all desires... The animated Object of all penchants, all sins...

... Sweetheart, come let us see if the Rose is rose/... A pic to capture that pink ... The wide-open diaphragm... The folds of the crimson robe, under the spotlights exactement... Petals of all colours, but roses are rose in all the gardens of the world, their buds like the diamonds of eternal pleasures...

... A Thousand and One Women... in ONE... The Synthesis is Bold, the Doll pumped up, the combinations multiple, the appearances deceiving...The Stone beneath the Flesh... Hard and cold... A polished and smooth Poupée de Marbre ... A Venus without her Fur... A shaven Sacher-Masoch... Not a hair left of Romanticism... A 2.0 Doll far from The Origin of the World...

... The body calibrated for stereotypical ardours... Unfussy tattoos, curls for artifice, silicone up to the gunwales, seams ready to split: The Pink Lady, Doll of the Quick Fuck…

... We would like her to speak... To pronounce words, sounds other than the conventional onomatopoeia of fawning pleasures... The Mmmm, the Aaaah, or the Ooooh... Letters that would form real words... No: nothing to be done, nothing to be said...

... A voiceless, unsmiling, soulless doll, her slits like bottomless pits, a humourless, joyless Doll... We will never see her heart or her feet, forever sealed in Carrara stone... A non-finito modern Galatea, off-putting her Pygmalion... The sculptor’s dream, his Ladies of yesteryear, his Marys full of grace and virtue, the Roses in bloom of his lost youth... Read more