She got pictures on the wall –
they make me look up
from her big brass bed.
now I'm running down the road trying to stay up
Somewhere in her head.

That was only a starting place when I was conceiving of the piece, which really is about two things; one about what kind of pictures you might be looking at in someone else's place, and secondly a man's idea of a woman (which seems to be the relentless basis for about half of all rock and roll songs).

I picked the two pictures portrayed in this piece because I like them very much and I think they say something about the artists. They also operate in a polarity as well as a similarity.

The first one is Francisco Goya's "The Marquessa de Ponejos," 1786 (see the original). The art historian John Walker says of this work

In this work of Goya's early years there appears for the first time a note that is sardonic, even cynical...this combination of a much deeper seriousness and a bitter disbelief in all established things provided a basis for those revolutions in panting which, under his influence, took place in France in the next century.

Heavy analysis for such a pastel, surface-oriented picture that focuses on such details as the pink rose that curves in her hand, her confectionary dress and her little dog.

It is certainly true that when you look at it, all that should be inviting and relaxed is not somehow. The painting is done in a straight-on, documentary manner in contrast to its numerous decorative accessories. Her dog acts as a little fearsome symbol which maintains distance and awkwardness. The picture hovers (or so I imagine) between absolutely painterly conventions of the time, and Goya's own feelings which to me do not necessarily seem bitter, but certainly seem to be hidden.

The second painting is Rembrandt's "Bathsheba at Her Bath," 1654, (see the original). The site at the Louvre where the work resides says

Rembrandt chose to paint the episode most often illustrated by artists, in which King David catches a glimpse of Bathsheba while she is bathing, and claims her for a servant. A measure of Rembrandt's genius lies in the liberties he takes with traditional iconography. The king does not appear in the painting, and is represented only by the slightly crumpled letter of request in Bathsheba's hand.

It is a beautiful painting that stands in odd contrast to the Goya, in terms of the emotion it conveys – the warm light, her nakedness and sympathetic face seem emotionally inviting. Yet perhaps it is the presence of another figure which contributes to the distance of the scene, and the sense of the subject in repose in her own space and personal reality which dislikes to be disturbed.

Both paintings are a peculiar aperture through which we glimpse both objectivity and potential for emotional engagement, creating a strange indeterminance.