The Beauty of Venus

I used to be beautiful.

I used to be loved and treated with the utmost care and attention. People used to come to see me and admire my beauty. That has all changed now. I was eventually buried and damaged, lost, and forgotten. Now I have been found again, and tomorrow I will go on display for the world to see. But it is hopeless. I know it is.

I am no longer beautiful.

My name is Venus. As in the goddess of love and beauty, also known as Aphrodite. Yes, that Venus. I myself am shapeless, relying on the imaginations of others to give me a form. Through history, I have carefully followed all of the various depictions of myself in artwork. I have watched the changes and transformations I have undergone throughout time as artists try to capture my essence in their work. The representation that is currently important to me, the one that is preparing to be displayed, is called Venus de Milo. And through her, I am no longer beautiful.

This is not the fault of any artist, but rather the fault of time and nature. I was not well preserved, and I fell into ruins with the rest of my city. I was first created in this form in the second century BC, by a man named Alexandros of Antioch. And in my glory, I was beautiful. My left hand was stretched out, holding a tempting apple just below eye level, while my right hand clutched the cloth that was sliding dangerously low on my hips. I stood a little larger than life, with my head held high, and I was painted and adorned with jewelry. I was certainly a sight to behold. But eventually, like all great things, my time came to an end, and I was lost and forgotten.

Since then, I have taken on many other forms, and I have carefully traced the path of them all to see the various artists' interpretations of me. There are a few in particular that have caught my eye, although there have been far more depictions of me than I have time to tell. It seems every artist – and everyone who thinks he is an artist – is compelled to create a new image of me. Some of them really are quite good. But there are six that are truly a part of me. Through these six, I have felt myself becoming a little more complete, a little closer to beauty and perfection.

*****

The year was 1485. I awoke one day feeling different somehow. Instead of being seated in the heavens, where I could look down and see all mortals, I found I had a limited view of only one room. It was an unfamiliar room, and when I tried to move I felt sticky. Then a man walked in front of me, but he did not seem to be an ordinary man. He appeared to me like a giant. He stopped directly in front of me and stared deep into my eyes. I stared back, confused and slightly unnerved. Then I felt something tickle my leg. I looked down to see some object, an extension of the man's hand, brushing up against me. This infuriated me. Did he not know that he was in the presence of a goddess? It had been demeaning enough to have him stare at me as if I were nothing more than a decoration, but to have him touching me? Who did he think he was? I tried to move out of his reach, but again felt weighed down by some heavy wet substance.

After a few moments, the man lowered his hand and stepped back again. This time when he stared at me, he smiled with satisfaction. And then, as quickly as he had appeared, he left. Just when I thought he was gone, I heard a soft voice calling to me.

"Hello," the voice said. "Hello,Venus." I turned my head quickly (or as quickly as I could under the weight of the mysterious substance) and realized I was not alone. To my right were two of the Zephyrs, or winds, and to my left was one of the Ores, goddesses of the seasons. I recognized all of them as figures I knew in the heavenly realm. Ver, the goddess of spring, was reaching toward me, extending a cloak made of flowers in my direction. I tried to reach for the offering, but found my arms virtually frozen in their positions. I looked to the Zephyrs on my right, who appeared to be blowing their winds, but I felt nothing. Confused and a little frightened, I turned back to Ver, who began to explain to me.