Twenty years ago this month, my mom (known as Miss Bunny) and I launched on her first grand tour of France. Mom’s period taste in art took a downturn after the Impressionists. Miss Bunny was quite the critic when she studied The Kiss, as interpreted by three modern artists. She lectured museum placards; it was a one-sided conversation.
Placard: The fluid rhythms of the woman’s ear and the man’s hairline complement the sensuality of the subject matter.
Miss Bunny: That couple can’t even get their lips straight. They’re rubbernecking, just rubbernecking.
Placard: The lovers’ eyes are buried in each other. Their ears have disappeared. They have become a single block of stone–societal isolation in the moment of self-absorption.
Miss Bunny: Those poor kids look like two telephone poles stuck together. . . . and she has no figure to speak of.
Placard: The contrast between the lovers’ smooth skin and the rock’s rough marble speak to the power of the artist’s sensuality.
Miss Bunny: Let me commune. . . . I do believe they are having more fun.