The Stolen Kiss

I hate rococo. I really, really do. It's all women with ample bosoms swooning into piles of flowers and foppish dandies with silk stockings and floppy hats making stupid faces at them, while cherubs and bunnies and happy pink clouds fill the air, and the whole of it is done with these soft and beautiful brushstrokes that make the people look like wax. It's artpr0n. It's fanciful escapism. And I just can't stand it.

That being said, sometimes I look at paintings like this and think, "hey it looks like he's trying to suck her in... quantum singularity!" She looks a little panicked and is grabbing for that... uh, beach towel? because in a few moments she will pass the event horizon and be GONE FOREVER. Unless she somehow can travel faster than the speed of light, her quantum information is BREAKING DOWN. O shit.

I've been at this too long. I need the weekend.

(Jean-Honoré Fragonard, The Stolen Kiss, c. 1788)