He Fa on The Birth of Venus

A giant scallop shell supports a mother-of-pearl-colored long garment; long golden hair spreads to the left, while shell patterns on the clothing repeat marine forms in layers. Both hands rest lightly along the body, one higher than the other, yet He Fa's broad face is as composed as though just arriving on a commuter platform. I borrow a grand entrance from The Birth of Venus, while making the person within it seem unhurried about approaching any ideal.

Birth in the image first means becoming visible: clothing, hair and base jointly arrange the first glance. That glance is powerful and readily used to explain everything afterward. I want to preserve the surprise of first appearance without making the subject forever obliged by that beginning to stay pure, beautiful or fresh. The stage of birth need not become lifelong operating instructions. The shell's curve is not the trajectory of every step I will take.

The complete long garment redistributes the familiar pose's functions: hands no longer need to shield exposed skin, and hair can occupy only its own space. Borrowed recognition remains, but the body need not account for itself to the gaze in the same way. I do not think coverage inherently freer than exposure. Freedom lies in choosing conditions and allowing them to change with the subject, rather than prescribing one respectable entrance for every body.

The shell opens to both sides, and the feet settle in its center. I am willing to thank it for bringing me into this frame and prepare to leave it afterward. If people still want to see me, they should leave some room for actions that no longer fit the scene of birth but are actually carried onward by this character.