Why does she sit there?
That lady, framed in golden wood.
She is there, for sure, but why?
She has those mysterious brown eyes, laughing maybe.
Those eyes died five centuries ago. How can we know them?
That mouth. It smiles at some secret never disclosed.
How is it that we can look at her before us, but yet she still fills us with so much mystery? Why is she here? Purely so that we can wonder at her, her that used to be flesh and blood.
Why did he paint her?
Why did she get painted and not the other lady, who we do not know? The other lady had a face. Why must it be forgotten?
She is real. There is blood flowing beneath those cheeks, even still. How can a stick, hair and oily colors keep someone alive? She is as mortal as paint and canvas and yet this is her in the flesh. This is exactly who she was, who she still is.
How come she gets to live so long?
How come she gets to be touched by Leonardo Da Vinci, and then she gets to see me? She spans centuries to bring us together. It is her purpose.
But then it’s not...
She had her own purpose. It died with her long ago, when her bones went into the ground. She is dust. She doesn’t belong here anymore.
Yet, there she is. Flesh and blood and bone.
Beauty and mystery.
History, yet alive in a modern age.
~
I hope this isn’t totally random!
I did it for a writing exercise and Tasha said I should post it...
So I did.
Soli Deo Gloria!
~Taralyn Rose
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