We all inhabit a body. A veritable mega-performing machine, our body develops by itself, allows us to advance, to express ourselves, give life…and has a rare beauty: A beauty that’s unique, that belongs only to us. Nevertheless, over different eras and cultures, we have sought to make it more powerful, then streamlined, then plump, then thinner than ever. Men and women are more or less imposed upon to suffer to attain aesthetic norms, even if the uniformity of bodies has nothing to do with reality. Or inspiration. Artists have always highlighted the infinite couleurs of morphologies. Do you believe a portrait moves us because of the exterior beauty of its subject, or is because it reveals an inner beauty that’s far greater? And when appearance overrides who we are, what magnificent facets of the body are left out? Is the image that you project an accurate representation of who you are?