State of Grace

Slender Charlotte Rampling poses on a spiral-legged desk in the most densely ornamented room on earth. Above her is a chandelier, the many lights of which are reflected in the panes of lace-covered, unshuttered, darkened French windows; behind her is a mirror with a huge, wild swirl of frame, and a narrow table to match; beneath the desk on which she sits is an Oriental carpet of concentrated design. Near her on the desk are car keys and a pack of cigarettes. Resting her weight on her left palm, Rampling leans back slightly. She holds a wineglass in her right hand. She props her feet on an elaborate chair. She wears a pair of dark slingback shoes reminiscent of those worn in the thirties. Her dark hair, her white skin, her famous hooded eyes are her only other ornaments. She is appareled with admirable restraint, in counterbalance to the overdressed room she now inhabits, the room she may soon leave (in her shoes, through the French windows, with her car keys in hand), once she has finished the glass of wine—and after Helmut Newton, at whom she is gazing over her naked right shoulder, has taken her black-and-white photograph for the December 1974 issue of American Vogue. ¹