Last night the ‘Head of Madonna’ by Botticelli fell to the floor.
It hung in our bedroom. Before that it hung in my late mother in law, Ann’s bedroom.
Nessa and I both said at the same time “what’s she trying to tell us?” (Ann, not the Madonna).
Neither of us are superstitious so we rested well.
But what interested me was the back of the print. The label suggests it was bought from the National Gallery a few decades ago. It made me think about the life of a young woman who would later become my mother in law.
Who did she visit the gallery with? How did she get there? What was it about this print that moved her? How was she feeling?
Questions I could have asked when she was alive but never did. It’s a thought that recurs more and more frequently as our parents generation dies out or the living become addled with dementia.
Such a beautiful post. I love how objects and especially artwork hold so many stories, some we hear about, some we share, and some that only ever stay private with the folks who lived them.