The giant cats do not respond to her reflective eye makeup
and light-catching clothing. Cynthia herself cannot feel her hair burned in
straight curtains or her skin sprayed with fine bronze mist. But they raise
their noses at her, sniff and become bored. She lifts her arm to her nose, her
skin smells as it always has.
The panthers prowl on the white floor, black fur shedding
and pelt gleaming in the lights. Cynthia watches their pupils grow to black
pools, and then shrink until their eyes are jaundiced orbs. She poses a
thousand ways. Draped over the creatures, cowering from them, morphing her
expression but keeping her eyes on their listless ones. She tries to prowl with
them, mimicking the smooth ripple from their shoulders to their paws and the
sway of their head. The photographer follows her but she follows the panthers.
The set ends. There will be no more animals now, someone
says as the panthers are rounded up. They return to their cages and she returns
to hers.
Art from Q Magazine 2009
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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