Charles Hudson White – The Kiss (1905)

Although this is clearly staged (not to mention: some #skinnyframebullshit), it feels like that Lacanian sentiment: [t]ruth has the structure of fiction.  The truth here has the structure of the fiction that in every relationship one person loves more than the other.

…and oh my! But, the light coming through those eight background window panes, and the reflection on the wood floor and that angled kicker reflection highlighting the line of her throat.

I can’t look at this and not recall the way “[m]y blood is alive with many voices telling me I am made of longing.”