The beauty of a woman…
“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It’s the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.”
(Audrey Hepburn)
Adorn yourself, characterize your image, send signals with your body is the most direct way to communicate. Clothes, tattoos, hairstyles, accessories, jewels are writing tools like words, looks, smiles.
She wore a golden magic on which adoring glances, lights, sudden shadows, flashes reflected themselves… Earrings, rings and pendants with classic and strong geometries at the same time, almost transgressive. Perfect, simply beautiful with nothing to add, it make you think of the beauty of the fornarine, of the gioconde, of the veiled women painted five hundred years ago. Dressed in simplicity and fantasy, she moved like a wave of transparent and colored light…
Jewels like everything we wear communicate like words. Much more than a words. They speak from the window, from the packaging, they speak on themselves, they speak casually placed next to the mirror …
I noticed her at the bar yesterday morning immersed in the usual breakfast made almost in a trance lost in the windows of a still virgin day. She proudly showoff her ring, the large blue stone with the same shade as her eyes. Same sparkles from the movements of his tapered hand. Imperceptible fingers on the table, sweeping gestures as she gathered her long blond hair. A thousand phrases, barely mentioned words belonging to no longer in use vocabularies, tells of happiness, belonging, desire, essence, brief hints to her splendid vanity and pages, pages of sensual provocations …
Never seen before, she spoke to the world from her ring as if she had poems printed on her, like a neon sign, naked in the middle of a crowd. The long necklace played impertinently on her and was held at bay by the same hand enlighten with blue, that dusty and shiny blue that only certain aquamarines imbued with the perfume of the hips and the light of the eyes. Games, distorted messages, endless novels, phrases thrown there as references, short stories. Dazzles, reflexes so as not to consume too important words, silences that are much more vivid than the useless chatter of seduction … She had crawled over me with her eyes and suddenly left, leaving the day still to begin without end.