Not for me a beautiful woman

(given as an exemplar for the competition Beauty (and goodness and truth) I am running.)    
   
On the sitting room wall when I was a child    
Was a reproduction of the Vermeer    
'The Girl with the Pearl Earring'- by then    
Not popularised in film and novel.    
She stared at me sadly, reproachfully    
In my mother's absence. Her eyes followed    
Everyhere- the substitute enforcer.    
   
Conventional beauty for me became    
An agency of control. Socrates'    
Goal 'the good, the true and the beautiful'    
Was perverted into the control speak    
Of that lovely tyrant. You must be good    
And true.My perfection insists on it.    
   
My unwitting rejection came when    
My mother asked me to take a photo    
Of a roofless, dilapidated wreck    
Of a house in our area to support    
Her demand for complete demolition.    
   
The returning prints brought exasperation.    
'You have made it look beautiful' she moaned.    
Of course I had. Beauty for me was not    
Aristotelian symmetry but    
Anarchy, chaos and the freedom    
To see as beautiful what others saw    
As ugly. And it has been ever since