A thousand girls ,a thousand thrills’….. So sang Jim Morrison and The Doors in 1967 in a song “The Crystal Ship”. In the early outings with this body of work, showing different moods of the illusive muse, never repeating the format, the pose, the color composition were my criterion. To induce diversity, I tapped a lifetime of appreciation for women. Like other men I have been subject to their provocation. The belief that every woman has a uniqueness which makes her a candidate for portrayal keeps me wide eyed. There are few woman and fewer situations they are in, that I fail to see beauty and feel empathy. Both poses on this page provide the voyeur visual access and opportunity. One might feel that she is unaware, unguarded, in an unseen moment,vanquished to an archipelago of futile satiation. In “End of the Evening”, notwithstanding the tipsy toast, her defiant salute to oblivion is a deference afforded by a blotto’d awareness to an unkind world of onlookers. I intended an appreciable gratification for an unblinking audience upon this being, at once attractive and self destructive. Our concern somewhat mitigated by her athletically toned limbs and limber ski-lift adaptation of a chair. The image evokes paternal concern in some or an appraisal of her viability in others. After all, she is yours and you have plans for her yet this evening or… this is your daughter, sister, old girlfriend and she is in a vulnerable spot. I imagined her visage while leaning back, propped up on one elbow, sketch book in one hand, graphite in the other, observing an empty Corbusier chair. A genuine hallucination emerged in an atmosphere of hellish burgundy smoke. A yellow haired muse took shape, barely visible, wandering in a no exit canyon of her own pernicious habits.