"At each of his weddings, he’d married his muse. I was surprised to learn this was true of my mother’s, too. But his brides didn’t stay still under his brushes. They wanted more, and they wanted families."
I like the way you structured this essay and your slant as a child witness makes it even more compeling.
Gorgeous writing. The painting is complex on many levels. I’m so interested in the idea of our parents leaving us breadcrumbs of knowledge about themselves. It takes a brave person like you to collect them.
Gosh, this is good, Eliza. I am fascinated by how to work with, and structure, this kind of layered, complex material. The fragments seem to give the writing a way forward when there is no way forward, or they bounce off each other in a way that is not at all linear and doesnt need to be -- can't be. There's something about finding your own voice within it all, too, after such erasure.
The form of this essay is very powerful. The painting is already a dialogue, as the article sees it, between artist and model, man and woman, and you make that more obvious with your two-part structure of alternating voices. What happens when the muse (or daughter) talks back? You’re showing us. Thanks for this—
It is an uncomfortable painting, Eliza – yes, a strange inheritance!. And the way you've shown how it relates to your family history makes it all the more compelling.
I'm reminded a bit of Sarah Moss's novel, Bodies of Light, in which a pre-Raphaelite artist father (Alfred Moberley) portrays his daughters as nymphs (ethical dilemma alert!). His wife is an activist; his daughters are ambitious; the main protagonist, Ally, becomes one of the first female doctors in England. Really interesting novel, interweaving art and feminism.
What an inheritance, what a painting. It is deeply unsettling. Jupiter seems powerless for the king of the gods. He looks consumed by regret, resentment, things he can’t name. The luminosity at the right of the painting suggests a path out that he will not take.
"At each of his weddings, he’d married his muse. I was surprised to learn this was true of my mother’s, too. But his brides didn’t stay still under his brushes. They wanted more, and they wanted families."
I like the way you structured this essay and your slant as a child witness makes it even more compeling.
Thank you so much, Jill
Gorgeous writing. The painting is complex on many levels. I’m so interested in the idea of our parents leaving us breadcrumbs of knowledge about themselves. It takes a brave person like you to collect them.
Thank you for this, Anita. Exactly, breadcrumbs to themselves…
I loved the form of this, and I also suspect you have much more to say about this painting!
Thank you, Sal.
Gosh, this is good, Eliza. I am fascinated by how to work with, and structure, this kind of layered, complex material. The fragments seem to give the writing a way forward when there is no way forward, or they bounce off each other in a way that is not at all linear and doesnt need to be -- can't be. There's something about finding your own voice within it all, too, after such erasure.
Thank you, Lucy, for these observations. And finding my voice is definitely controlling the whole endeavor.
The form of this essay is very powerful. The painting is already a dialogue, as the article sees it, between artist and model, man and woman, and you make that more obvious with your two-part structure of alternating voices. What happens when the muse (or daughter) talks back? You’re showing us. Thanks for this—
Thank you, Victoria. It’s very satisfying to not just passively read about my father’s work ..
It is an uncomfortable painting, Eliza – yes, a strange inheritance!. And the way you've shown how it relates to your family history makes it all the more compelling.
I'm reminded a bit of Sarah Moss's novel, Bodies of Light, in which a pre-Raphaelite artist father (Alfred Moberley) portrays his daughters as nymphs (ethical dilemma alert!). His wife is an activist; his daughters are ambitious; the main protagonist, Ally, becomes one of the first female doctors in England. Really interesting novel, interweaving art and feminism.
Oh just fantastic! I’ve got to check this out. Thank you, Wendy
What an inheritance, what a painting. It is deeply unsettling. Jupiter seems powerless for the king of the gods. He looks consumed by regret, resentment, things he can’t name. The luminosity at the right of the painting suggests a path out that he will not take.
Gorgeous observations. Thank you, Rona.
"Careful the things you say, children will listen." Thanks as always for shayour journey of (self) discovery and art.
Thank you, Amy