Faceless

She barely looked at him out of the corner of her eye while untying the pink laces of her ballerina shoes. He noticed and abruptly uttered “Move. Take your clothes off, we don’t have the whole day”. She recoiled for just a second and then proceeded to undress completely without looking at him. She stood in front of him, with her head hanging down, her arms hunching forward and her hands crossed over her pubis; waiting for instructions. For a while he didn’t move and she could only see his black shoes and the end of his flannel trousers. Her heart was beating quickly but she didn’t dare to say a word.

She then heard his steps as he moved behind her and stood there, apparently carefully examining her. “Squat there.” She obeyed and tried to keep her best equilibrium with her hands on her knees. She knew it was not going to be quick. “Try not to move, but you can hold yourself with one hand or the other on the floor.” Edgar Degas then moved to the canvas and went on to create a painting that was already drawn in his head. She just needed to fit that purpose and be nothing but a reflection of the light for his eyes. Thus her image started to become, and everybody will see the back of her body crouching on the floor. Nobody will see her face, not even him.