The History of Sex: Venice and Florence -- Klimt Meets Cicciolina -- (Chap. IV, Pt. 9)

I had suggested to Lena the Latin South African that we book a night at Max and Maria's in the name of research.

After all, who could resist getting 'to know an interesting and open-minded family' and 'going to bed surrounded by erotic and ironic artworks?'

But now that I see the paintings in all their eroto-ironic glory, I can understand why she wasn't keen.

Imagine, if you can, pastiches of classical art with the coloring of Klimt and the porn-tastic style of Jeff Koons and Cicciolina, and you'll have a good approximation of Max's work.

In typical postmodern fashion, he uses bondage portraits off the Internet and then recasts them against gilded backgrounds as saints and martyrs.

So a topless blonde bound to a post with her hands above her head becomes eerily reminiscent of poor old St. Sebastian, only with breasts and baby oil.

These images are everywhere, and the wall above the bed features no less than ten women—several with ball gags in their mouths—and one an enraptured nun in a headdress with her breasts out.

It's not that Max's paintings are bad—in their own way, they're actually good—they're just probably not the sort of images you want looming over you in bed.

Add to that the fact that the 'open-minded' landlords are right next door—and Maria's teenaged daughters are just down the hallway—and I reckon I probably wouldn't get much sleep in this B&B.

While surveying the art on the walls, I can't help but wonder:

Where are the hidden webcams?