On Looking Alive: A monologue by the Girl with a Pearl Earring
What most struck me when Master Vermeer asked me to sit for his painting was his reminder to breathe.
Breathe? I say. Of course I’m going to breathe. I have to breathe.
Ah yes, of course, he says. You will be taking shallow breaths so as not to move your lips, your breast, your turban, but what I mean is that you must look alive. If you look alive my dear, the painting will look alive.
I ask what that meant but he has already picked up his brush and told me, stay still.
I assume the position he had maneuvered me into with his hand on my chin, lips parted, eyes darting backwards, his wife’s borrowed turban around my auburn hair. And then I still myself. And then I try to look alive.
I must not move. Though it is difficult. I will distract myself with thinking. That does not take much moving.
I had never thought about what it meant to look alive. I have always been alive, so far as I can tell, and so I do not know what it is to not live. And yet as I stare back at Master Vermeer, deft fingers flicking over the canvas with his tiny brush, light streaming from the window across my pale face, I see what it is to be alive.
There is a mirror behind him and in it I can see myself being formed. I am being petrified in paint by his hands. He is carving me into the canvas with oil and the sweat that drips down his neck. He is pulling each of my breaths, held close to my chest so as not to rattle the heavy pearls at my ears, and catching them in the air. He is pressing them into the cloth stretched over timbers brought in from the country. He is capturing me. He is creating me anew. He is not only painting my likeness; he is painting my life.
Oh that I should ever create like that. Oh that I could take what was in front of me and make it stay still, like a stone and yet have it still live. Oh that I could pull from the depths of the dark painted canvas, a figure, alive, like he has in painting me.
I am glad now that he wanted me to look back at him. I am glad now that he has made me stare at him and not out the window. Here I can watch him do his work. I can watch him as he is so gently recrafting my life, my very breath, in oil and canvas.
I hope he paints his reflection in my pearl. I hope I am not alone in life on this canvas.
I breathe in. Look alive. I breathe out. Look alive.
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A Single Thread by Tracy Chevalier
A nice story, nothing too demanding about a woman escaping a controlling mother to live a life of her own independently
I have just read my synopsis above and realised that it makes this book sound a little uninspiring and yet, it really was a good read. I don’t think that I have ever read a bad Tracy Chevalier novel – some are better than others and some are just brilliant but this one showcases Chevalier’s storytelling technique to good effect.
The story concerns itself with Violet Speedwell, a lady in her…
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Girl with pearl earring, ca. 1665, Mauritshuis, Netherlands, Johannes Vermeer (Dutch, 1632 - 1675) - unknown photographer
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Pearl With a Pearl Earring by The Inspired Cynic
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