The eager study of these insipidly futile photos are suggestive of so much more that mere pieces of woman’s body. Every fiber , vein and muscle , read deeply, artistically encapsulate aching anticipation of lust , sex , desire. Conveyed through a black and white outlet of morbidness and loneliness , awaiting , for man, a lover perhaps, morphed into insatiable , internal brutality of rejection and powerlessness. Why have we been kept waiting? We as a women are able to enter the dome’s of emotional complexity, that innately, have the capability to drive us insane. Yet why is it that to an external viewer the gaze of a picture, in that short moment can be seemly nothing?