Her assimilation was so complete and thorough, all she could see was her education. She knew everything about the artist. She had learned about the brushstrokes, the paint and pigment used. The color vibrance and how these colors weren’t even possible during those times. She could see the magnificent frame, and the realness. The lighting was perfect as were the shadows….it was a masterpiece, plain and simple! But her mind couldn’t see the image of the very young dark skin naked girl being chased by the kings men, the Knights. She couldn’t see the terror on the young child’s face as the dogs ran foaming in bloodlust behind her. She couldn’t see the hatred from the eyes of the men chasing this child, weilding swords, bows and blunt instruments above their heads, nor the blood seeping from between the childs legs or the wounds where the arrows lodged. All she could see is what she was trained to see, the brilliance of each stroke of the brush. She couldn’t see the injustice, the brutality or the real meaning and history of these dark skin people of another race, far across the ocean, a human being not so different from herself …. All she could feel was adoring love and pride of the artist as he depicted the scenes of these destroyed, ignorant, childlike pagan dirt people. The painting was, was beyond perfect. The artist was a genius of pure complex talent. No, she couldn’t see her own assimilation and ignorance through this paintings beauty… She could only feel the joy and pride of seeing for herself all she’d been instructed to see.