The moment the nude has your eye, there’s a possibility of erotic engagement, the possibility of solicitation through beauty. Gender can become irrelevant. The eyes have already been where the hands long to go and we imagine the territory in nourished exquisite detail. The truth is whether we experience an event or imagine it, the same parts of the brain light up. We’re ardent voyeurs whether we admit it publicly, or not.

In the right frame of mind (like that of a devoted lover or of two people desirous of becoming so entwined), this kind of eroticism beckons sexually because it deals with creation. To paraphrase an old axiom, to love the word with the eyes, one uses them as hands; to love the world with frame and lit curve, a photographer uses them as a soul. Mythology abounds with such lessons; we are all Pygmalion under the skin.