So sad ... she is so sad... I saw her at the Louvre tonight in the twilight. Walked through a maze of small rooms to find her. She is incredible, incredibly poignant, debilitatingly evocative. Rembrandt's eye has been soft. His compassion guided his hands. He brought her up out of his love. He pays witness to the powerlessness/injustice/inequity of the passivity of a recurrent event. Do you see the letter she holds in her hand, tinged with blood? Her eyes, look away without focus. She is eternally weary, too overcome with inevitability to even lift her head, straighten her shoulders. Her body absorbs the world and all its griefs. Her posture bent with the weight of it. She has all but given herself up to a fateful outcome. She is a sacrificial lamb. She concedes all, concedes life. Cixous (1993) in Bathsheba or the Interior Bible creates a foil, an echo with to the Rembrandt that hangs on the wall opposite in the small salle in the Louvre ... its in the Richelieu wing, salle 31. On one corner the beautiful and poignant, and tragic Bathsheba, and on the other ... the slaughtered ox... In my eyes, tonight, in the Autumn twilight of Paris, it seemed so clear ...
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