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December 5, 2007

David: Suffering For Art

At last, the setting was perfect. Every hair was in place. Her head was tilted just so. Her makeup was flawless. The lighting was ideal, with no unflattering shadows while maintaining youthful vigor. Her gown was fitted perfectly, without a wrinkle or errant fold in sight, and the pearlescent baubles sewn onto the fabric gleamed. Her daintily gloved hands folded neatly, primly in her lap. She was the feminine ideal, brought to life through his effort and skill.

“I told you,” he said, locking the hoist chain and readying the camera, “I’d get this shot if it killed you. Smile.”

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