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272 A Face to Meet the Faces The Kama Sutra’s Banished Illustrator Chad Davidson I only drew the woman. Raised cheekbones curving impossibly in my hand, the slender neck, hair pulled back like rope: all female after brushing the vagina’s conch in agni. I shaded with my stained finger around the breasts, gave her arms, karma. Her pupils swelled, anticipating the loss. How I coveted the way she seemed to stare at my palm while I labored—my subject. Any artist will tell you they’re not easy, the eyes; I grinded them into reflection. She never saw past the image I gave her, just as I could not stop scorching her skin with reds and ochres saved for Brahma’s eyes. A flame of curry stained her mouth’s rim. Here, a hand rose for wine a lover brings. His name would well up in her parched throat. Before the night, she would accept him again, whom I refused to draw. It was a trick to make ecstasy—the floating legs, head tossed back, the half-eaten plum— contrary to her leisure. In fact I stole my sketches long before I finished, before she bled back into my hands. ...

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