So William Butler Yeats visits the much talked-about artist Pablo Picasso in his studio. He sees the young Spaniard painting a young woman nude from the waist up. The model holds a sausage between her hands. As Picasso finishes the figure, he asks the poet what he thinks of the new work.
"Can't say I approve."
"Oh?" Picasso says with one eyebrow raised.
"No, it lacks balance."
"Lacks balance? How do you mean?"
"Well, my friend, the breasts lack all conviction, while the worst is filled with passionate intensity."