Something of an Heirloom
I've been waiting for a while to relate this story and I think that now might be a good time.
The subject matter will be obviously familiar to some people. Especially those who had been to my parent's house between 1989 and 1995
And while it doesn't quite match the skills of the master yarnspinner to whom I have apprenticed my entire life, I think you can probably hear a little of his voice in it as well.
There are small seeds of truth in details, and great blossoming lies in the seams.
I, like my father before me, leave it to you, the readers, to sort between.
Love to you all, and Happy Halloween.
In 1971 my mother worked in a framing studio as a mat cutter and framer. One of her more wealthy clients was an artist named Barbara who did beautiful oil portraits and florals. Barbara had painted a portrait of her sister that she had intended to give as a gift, however she and the sister had an horrible falling out and Barbara, feeling slighted, flipped the canvas over and painted a bed of irises over it.
The day she finished the painting, according to her own account, the sister died without having reconciled their differences.
Barbara didn't want the painting anymore and, knowing that my mom was an admirer of her work, gave it to her.
It hung in our living room for close to two decades. But something strange started to happen to the painting. Gradually it started getting darker and darker, which according to my mom can happen when you've layered two different types of oils. Something to do with lacquers and enamels... I don't know. I don't paint. That wasn't so much the problem, the problem was that when it was hit with light that came in through the side windows in the morning and late afternoon, the irises became indistinguishable and what you could see was a dark, low-contrast image of the upside down portrait of the maligned sister smiling out at you in the glare.
It has quite the history in our family and we all loved its quirk. And I loved showing it to people, or springing it on them without letting them in on the story. "Look at that painting..now step two steps to the right so you can see the ....AIIIIIGH!" I even had a high school girlfriend turn as white as a sheet and run out of our house when she unwittingly discovered the painting's "secret".
But after a while it even started to creep us out a little as the painting underneath became more and more visible in anything but the most direct sunlight or bright ambient light...so much so that "The lady" even shows up in a family portrait that we had taken in that room.
So it was put in storage. To my knowledge the only person who has seen it in the past fifteen years is my older sister, who uncovered it four years ago in my parent's basement when she and her boyfriend were helping them move. When mom and dad asked her if she wanted it she swore she never wants to see it again and refused to talk about it anymore. She said it made her feel "crazy" and she "was not crazy".
So time passed and it moved into permanent storage.
We didn't discuss it in the immediate family at all, so it went without mention until a cousin's wedding about a year ago. My dear sister and I were sitting outside, on the steps of the reception hall catching up, and a cousin came outside telling another relative about the painting. "...It was crazy!" She said. "...There was this lady... they had it in their house!... Tell her!" My sister was reluctant to talk about it with any depth, but we jokingly acknowledged that the cousin wasn't making it up. Yes we did have a picture that you could see someone upside down in.
After they went inside I asked her if she would talk about it.
Now my sister had a few drinks that evening, a rare event in and of itself. But on those rare occasions, she get's...chatty, so I thought I could coax something out of her. I got a lot more than I bargained for. She very calmly reiterated that she was very reluctant to talk about it and that she didn't want to seem crazy or feel crazy by reliving it.
But I foolishly pressed her, "Why?"
She took my drink(I drink bourbon on the rocks with a splash of water) out of my hand, drained it in one motion, looked me dead in the eyes, and said "Because her lips moved." and she went back in to the reception.
The subject matter will be obviously familiar to some people. Especially those who had been to my parent's house between 1989 and 1995
And while it doesn't quite match the skills of the master yarnspinner to whom I have apprenticed my entire life, I think you can probably hear a little of his voice in it as well.
There are small seeds of truth in details, and great blossoming lies in the seams.
I, like my father before me, leave it to you, the readers, to sort between.
Love to you all, and Happy Halloween.
In 1971 my mother worked in a framing studio as a mat cutter and framer. One of her more wealthy clients was an artist named Barbara who did beautiful oil portraits and florals. Barbara had painted a portrait of her sister that she had intended to give as a gift, however she and the sister had an horrible falling out and Barbara, feeling slighted, flipped the canvas over and painted a bed of irises over it.
The day she finished the painting, according to her own account, the sister died without having reconciled their differences.
Barbara didn't want the painting anymore and, knowing that my mom was an admirer of her work, gave it to her.
It hung in our living room for close to two decades. But something strange started to happen to the painting. Gradually it started getting darker and darker, which according to my mom can happen when you've layered two different types of oils. Something to do with lacquers and enamels... I don't know. I don't paint. That wasn't so much the problem, the problem was that when it was hit with light that came in through the side windows in the morning and late afternoon, the irises became indistinguishable and what you could see was a dark, low-contrast image of the upside down portrait of the maligned sister smiling out at you in the glare.
It has quite the history in our family and we all loved its quirk. And I loved showing it to people, or springing it on them without letting them in on the story. "Look at that painting..now step two steps to the right so you can see the ....AIIIIIGH!" I even had a high school girlfriend turn as white as a sheet and run out of our house when she unwittingly discovered the painting's "secret".
But after a while it even started to creep us out a little as the painting underneath became more and more visible in anything but the most direct sunlight or bright ambient light...so much so that "The lady" even shows up in a family portrait that we had taken in that room.
So it was put in storage. To my knowledge the only person who has seen it in the past fifteen years is my older sister, who uncovered it four years ago in my parent's basement when she and her boyfriend were helping them move. When mom and dad asked her if she wanted it she swore she never wants to see it again and refused to talk about it anymore. She said it made her feel "crazy" and she "was not crazy".
So time passed and it moved into permanent storage.
We didn't discuss it in the immediate family at all, so it went without mention until a cousin's wedding about a year ago. My dear sister and I were sitting outside, on the steps of the reception hall catching up, and a cousin came outside telling another relative about the painting. "...It was crazy!" She said. "...There was this lady... they had it in their house!... Tell her!" My sister was reluctant to talk about it with any depth, but we jokingly acknowledged that the cousin wasn't making it up. Yes we did have a picture that you could see someone upside down in.
After they went inside I asked her if she would talk about it.
Now my sister had a few drinks that evening, a rare event in and of itself. But on those rare occasions, she get's...chatty, so I thought I could coax something out of her. I got a lot more than I bargained for. She very calmly reiterated that she was very reluctant to talk about it and that she didn't want to seem crazy or feel crazy by reliving it.
But I foolishly pressed her, "Why?"
She took my drink(I drink bourbon on the rocks with a splash of water) out of my hand, drained it in one motion, looked me dead in the eyes, and said "Because her lips moved." and she went back in to the reception.