I wonder if Gabriel Ortega prefers men. He's married, but sometimes that doesn't mean much, especially within well to do families like his. I mean, the apartment has all these statues of men, naked and gorgeous. From one perspective they're representations of idealized form, but they're also sensual.
The faun playing cymbals reminds me of reading Nietzsche my sophomore year. I didn't enjoy Zarathustra much, with his mad raving about the Ubermensch. Maybe he meant well, but it's a dangerous idea to put out into the world. People are weak and ideas like that inevitably get twisted. But later I read Nietzsche's earlier work, from a time when he was really into the ancient Greeks. The statues in the apartment call all that to mind, the fascination with abundance, and with the cult of Bacchus, the god of wine and dancing. Lush and indulgent, in opposition to austere Apollo, who would have bored Nietzsche (and Gabriel?) to tears.
The entire apartment has an Apollonian feeling, with its clean perpendicular lines and its penchant for symmetry. But Gabriel's furniture and art introduce a sort of aesthetic bacchanalia. Oh man! I miss him. He looks kind of foxy in some of these photographs too. Suddenly I'm realizing that maybe Gabriel and I would get along just fine. He's quite a bit older, but I think a girl like me could handle that.