daVinci

Leonardo DaVinci posed for me for over an hour, not squirming once. The lines and curvature of his structure were jagged and industrial—a futurist prince whose many vices stemmed purely from his superior intelligence—resulting in an overactive imagination which required that he must give in to every deviant impulse which had been fortunate enough to cross his mind. The pet wavered with insecurity—his symmetrical limbs flailing and his serene smile turning to a frown. I caught him just before he fell—up and up and up into the sky—where fish and fairies and equations lived. He disintegrated into his basic elements—hydrogen, oxygen, iron, and sequins, and that was the last I ever saw of him.