Girl Reading a Letter by an Open Window, by Johannes Vermeer A Side Glance at Vermeer He painted me with cool earth tones, then he positioned me here, in this scene: a picture introverted, baroque, a busy void, a vacuum bottle with a handmade ship inside. How can anyone admire my figure? I'm sequestered, incarcerated in a room barren, where is the fever of life? But you, you can peep at me for your leisure pleasure, and study me with my hands clasped tight until white. I am immortal, or, at least presented as if I exist (subsist) outside of time, made to nurse my demure pout for eternity as I stand before a map of a world distant and foreign. Admire the painter's skill, but don't forget to question. Admire my mute, domestic peace. Retain me for my role as your enigma. This picture does not disrobe me. I stand bathed in light but not illuminated. Don't let the siren spell of beauty mute your faculties. Bring me into your world.