The only time I got a chance to throw on a pair of sexy heels this week was when I went to the Hammer Museum last Friday evening. Every time I go, I have to stop at Gustave Moreau's Salomé Dancing before Herod. It is by far my favorite depiction of Salomé, who I became obsessed with when I first saw Regnault's version at the Met (many moons ago). I can't explain why my subconscious mind is drawn to this femme fatale, but it is. Oh, who am I kidding. The story of Salomé is enthralling and full of sex and violence. It's like watching a captivating film except in this case your mind finishes the story. For example, Moreau's painting does not show the head of John the Baptist. It focuses solely on Salomé, who appears magical. Her posture is delicate and demanding at the same time. And being the Baudelaire and Delacroix junkie that I am (like Moreau), I just cannot get enough of the drama and passion. And the black cat. Of course, she rests in the shadows of the painting. This is why I love art history. It's an escape into a romanticized world. Even in tragedy. I also received this wonderful little book from the Princeton University Art Museum as a gift. I kept it by my computer the last few days as a little reminder to surround myself with more art.