A friend of mine, knowing my interest in photography, gave me about two months ago a print in black and white of a naked woman without a proper identity since her head was obscured from the picture.
Looking at it several times increased my curiosity as if at every turn I saw a different vision and meaning of the erotic impact that seemed to embellish its dimension in every which way.
My obsession with the picture is more to do with the message it conveys rather than the sheer nakedness of what I can imagine of a woman in the prime of her sexuality oozing with a heightened erotic compulsion to celebrate her own body in a stark environment, while retaining its raw magical glow.
One nipple against the darkness is bewitching whereas the other, more exposed to the light, makes the contrast more alluring.
Her pubic hair strewn as if in a wild garden fully covers her sublime inner lips which become a more desirable target for a famished love, a love that craves the comfort of being intoxicated by the warmth of her thighs.
To me, the woman behind the veil of darkness is now a muse that I have adopted with all the secrecy of a lover reluctant to share his vision with anyone else – for his greed and wild perception knows no boundaries.