Week 2 Story: The Ivory Girl

Pygmalion the artist lived in a small house, where his only company was his painting and sculpting tools. He loved his job as an artist, but as time went by his house seemed to get smaller and smaller and he became lonelier and lonelier.

"Only a woman," he thought, "can cure my loneliness." So he began his search for a wife, but no woman could please him. Everywhere he turned, he saw wickedness and shortcomings.

"These women are inferior to me," he sighed. "Not one will be a suitable wife." Returning to his art, Pygmalion wistfully sketched the lines of the perfect woman who only existed in his dreams. Suddenly, he dropped his pencil and leapt to his feet.

"That's it!" he gasped. "I will make my own woman, the perfect wife." Grabbing his chisel and pulling a block of ivory from the closet, Pygmalion began to create his masterpiece. He worked tirelessly until the statue was finished, and when he stepped back to admire it, he fell in love with the ivory curves made by his own hand.

Pygmalion lived happily with his statue for some time. He liked to gaze at her and wrap his arms around her. Eventually though, he started to want more.

"If only she were as warm and soft as flesh," he murmured, stroking her lifeless cheek one evening. "And if only she could bat her eyelashes and smile at me. Then she would truly be the perfect woman."

Venus, hearing his request and seeing a lesson to be learned, reached down from her station and touched a lock of ivory hair on the statue. Warmth gathered there and spread to the girl's head, traveling down and turning stone to flesh. Pygmalion, who had his arms around her, felt her soften against him. He grabbed her face, now warm and glowing, and pressed his lips against hers.

He felt hands on his chest, and at first they excited him until he realized that they were pushing him away. His statue's lips broke away from his, crying out in confusion.

"Who are you? How did I get here? Where have I come from?" the girl asked, shaking her head and gazing warily at Pygmalion.

Pygmalion, annoyed at the interruption, replied, "My dear, you know me. I am your creator and you are mine."

"I may be familiar to you," said the girl slowly, "but you are a stranger to me. I am not yours."

Pygmalion was beginning to grow nervous. He thought maybe he liked the girl better as a statue. She sounded like those other women whose hearts he believed to be inferior to his. Mustering up all his patience, he assured her, "You are mine. I made you and we are to be married and have a child together." He pulled her in again.

At this the girl spun around and stepped away from Pygmalion. "If you wanted me to be your statue, you should have kept me as ivory," she said indignantly. She strode toward the door.

Pygmalion lives alone to this day, still unaware that his heart is no better than any woman's. He has stopped including women in his sketches and sculptures, because even those he cannot control.

Diana of Gabii, sculpted by Praxiteles.

Source: Wikipedia.

Author's Note: "Pygmalion" is a story about a man who, thinking all women to be bad, sculpts his own woman out of ivory. In the original story, Venus grants his request to turn the statue into a real girl because she favors Pygmalion. The original story treats the girl as a statue even when she has become a person. She bashfully but readily accepts Pygmalion's advances and bears a child for him. In my retelling, I wanted the girl to be given the autonomy she deserves as a human, and I also wanted Pygmalion to be exposed for wrongly assuming women to have some failing of the heart that men don't have. Women aren't perfect because they're human, not because they're inferior to men.

Bibliography: "Pygmalion" from Ovid's Metamorphoses, translated by Tony Kline. Web source.