questionable. The forms, although untouched, change before his eyes. What is the right proportion, color, texture, line - the correct relationship between the eyes, nose and eyes? The mouth - sometimes that makes all the difference - just as the texture of the skin can rule the form. 

Is the search for the perfect woman a search for his own perfection? His need to make himself complete? Perfect immortal being slips out from under the form he has made. What is left is desire, hunger. 

Pygmalion is a hunger artist. In him, beauty and desire, bound together like Siamese twins, pursue each other endlessly, oblivious of their bond, their transient natures. 

He knows what must be done to make his creation perfect. He starts over again.
 

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                                            The End