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The Mirror of Venus is not merely a mirror, it is a mirror with a cross. A mirror to reflect the body, a cross to legitimise the reflection. Furs remain in the imagination of the writer, but the body shines out of emptiness. Some see the spreading clouds of vainglory, but the mirror merely reflects whatever steps into the sunlight. Some see whirling demons, some see angels, some think of Titian, Tintoretto, Velasquez, Veronese, some think of love. Some curse themselves for their visions… All this is naught but the triumph of the subjective over the objective, the victory of the view over vision. A temporary victory, of course, but lasting long enough for those who wish to enjoy it to do so.
Beauty is the ’heads’ of the coin while fertility is the underside, ‘tails.’ Much celebrated by
