I remember when I saw her first. It was in a crowded museum. I had waited a half hour to get in and this was after the 15 euros I paid for a reservation on the "special entry" line. I guess it doesnt matter if what you want to see is Venkatachalapathy or da Vinci, money talks. I then proceeded to meander through a multitude of rooms that made it painfully obvious to me how art challenged I was. And then in one of the rooms, as the crowds parted like the red sea I saw her. I t was like the zephyr's were fanning her off the canvas towards me. OK, it wasn't quite so melodramatic. A bunch of japanese tourists decided to point their fancy image capturing gadgetry elsewhere and that brought me up to the painting. And I did what most art novices do - stand and stare with mouth agape, maybe utter an unintelligible word or two. But Botticelli's Birth of Venus stayed with me long after I left the Uffizi that evening.
The second time I saw her, was in the privacy of a barely occupied movie theatre. Delysia Lafosse was exiting a bath, drawn for her by Miss Pettigrew, in a bathroom too ornate to be adressed as such. Delysia, an upcoming actress and prima-donna extraordinaire, had requested a personal assistant to help manage her ever expanding "social" circle and upwardly mobile (Delysia hoped) career. And due to a series of rather fortunate events, an out of work Miss Pettigrew ingratiates herself to Miss Lafosse, landing herself the position. As Delysia alighted from her sea shell shaped bath, she draped herself in the cloth that Miss Pettigrew proffered, one hand holding it to her chest another between her legs. All I could see in the frame was Botticelli's vision, only with Amy Adams as the model. So much so that there was no room for even a passing fancy that the towel protecting Adams' modesty ought to drop in order to complete the intention of the frame!
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