She looks happy to me.
I always thought people said she looked said.
And then she reminds me of the public school lunch lady...
it seems as if she has a hairnet on to me.
Who is she smiling at?
Is it me?
It’s like a smirk...
...what she has upon her face...
...it so strikingly resembles those mean school-kids’ looks...
...except without the cruel eyes...
These eyes are soft. And warm. And without too much fire. They don’t burn in the night, but the reach out to me.
What is she looking at?
I wonder if the painter wondered what she was thinking?
Even if she was no model..just imagination...
what was she thinking?
Did he feel self-conscious, as we all do,
“Do I have a milk mustache?”
“Does my face look weird?”
and then it goes to defensiveness
“Stop smiling at me like that!”
“You’re really freaking me out!!”
And then...all of a sudden, we’re overreacting.
And it doesn’t even matter that it’s a face of a woman
who may or may not be sad
And it doesn’t even matter that it was drawn
by a famous artist
Do we care?
I suppose not.
By analyzing all this....
....all this that which I have written.
We, must be too wrapped up in our own little thoughts and boundaries and feelings.
‘tis not wrong to have little thoughts
‘tis not wrong to have boundaries (especially as one grows up)
‘tis not wrong to have feelings (they’re what keep you going)
But I got so wrapped up in my writing...
...that I forgot what I was looking at.
And with life,
sometimes it’s fatal,
when we let. that. happen.