Have I written about this before?

When a friend of mine, Karl's wife Rebeca, informed me that women don't lounge around nude, languidly watching TV, reading a book, drinking coffee, cooking, but at least like to wear large T-shirts, I did do a short series of figures where I had women wearing at least underwear. I drew big floppy T-shirts as well.
Rebeca's assertion has haunted me over the years, even as I've gone back to drawing nudes. Nothing is more interesting than the bodies God gave us. Male and female: we are knit together with bones and muscles and covered with skin. What is more incredible than that our consciousness is embodied. Merleau Ponty goes to great length in his Phenomenology of Perception to describe, to set out, how the consciousness is in the body and how as body and consciousness we exist in the world, as points with horizons. And so I have to agree: how do I exist in time? Isn't it a wonder that the point I am now was preceded by such points as a child playing in the yard, a teenager caught in a rainstorm in the mountains, an adult in graduate school drinking in a coffee shop?
This wonder is found also in Whitman's Leaves of Grass. As I've combed through his lines (now I am investigating how his 1855 edition changed into the edition we have in the Norton anthology), I wonder at the consciousness of a human being in 1855 having the sense of himself that Whitman does. To say that he is both victor and conquered; lost and found; and that he is to be found under our boot soles, filter and fibre for our blood. And many more such things - these amaze me in their inclusiveness. Whitman has written a phenomenological description- and Ponty does describe the way the body exists with its consciousness as a work of art - a poem.
The body and soul together are works of art. Each human life is a work of art. Do we sense that? Do we see how this honors the image of God? When we see ourselves and others statistically, we lose that sensibility - we reduce others and ourselves to ciphers, caught in the metanarrative of market forces (the idolatry of the day).
Do we understand that we live in works of art? That our very living in the bodies we do is a work of art itself? The child kicking a ball; the old man walking with his cane; the couple walking by a shore; as well as bored and anxious people waiting in line; or refugees in Palastine. We are works of art - tragedy and comedy.
And God gave us such bodies to act in Her creation.