Giggling, two of my little boys made their way in my direction (poking and shoving all the while).

The 9 year old was toting a hardcover book in his hands which he promptly thrust in front of me just as I took my second bite of lunch. His 6 year old cohort looked on with a smirk, as he determinedly flipped through the pages until he’d reached the one that had caused their giddiness.

“Mom, look at this,” the older child commanded. “She’s naked. There are naked pictures in this book!”

After glancing at the full page graphic of The Artist and His Model, I spent the next several minutes (between bites) explaining the beauty of the human form and the awesomeness of bodies. However, at some point during my educational speech they did what little boys do, they drifted off in search of some new distraction.

Finding myself alone with the book, I took the time to scan the pages for myself. Certainly, Henri Matisse’s talent was undeniable and his subject matters included everything from the female form to a Catholic chapel, but I found myself, like my sons, fixated on those nudes albeit for a wholly different reason.
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