After blindly ordering the bottle of whiskey, the conductor asked the waitress if she’d write something down for him:
“There is nothing more beautiful than the noise a woman makes, the way she speaks and pricks your inner thought.”
The waitress transcribed what he said, bewildered and noticeably insulted, and threw the note down in front of the painter. Somewhat bemused by the exchange, the painter picked up the pad and, after reading, shook his head wildly.
“No. The most beautiful thing about the female form is how it is put together. The limbs, the eyes, the ears, even the tips of the fingers make for the most beautiful subject”, he wrote back.
When the waitress came back to collect her pad and drop off the whiskey, the conductor asked if she’d written what he’d asked.
“Yes, I have. And your friend there replied. But you are both wrong. The most beautiful thing is how we feel, it’s what you can only touch.”
She wrote that down and passed it to the painter. Chaos ensued, as the contemporaries disagreed with her contention, but each was confused by how to explain his own point of view.
Silently drinking the sculptor smiled, oblivious to the fact that he was the only one that knew how to truly find beauty in a woman. That deaf and blind he was the only one that truly knew.
