Ohh I love statues, not in the pretentious “postmodernism is a plague to society Roman empire” way but in a queer sensual humanistic way. They capture all of the beauty of nature, people, and rust all while not having a single inch of flesh on them. The way the crinkle, break, and fold is extremely human, but they still are cold to the touch unless touched by something with warmth. Maybe that’s warmth of the skin or warmth of the gaze. There’s something so queer about them. They reflect the epitome of beauty to their creature.