Beauty. She is in front of me: half full, mirroring the heights in a sad yellow. The perfect shape: a delicate round body opening up slightly at the edges. One wouldn’t have noticed if not carefully looking. Blue little flowers, like violets, crawl all over her old white body (not the milky white, but a rather old and warned out looking white), and a subtle blue line draws the edges between the outside and the inside. At the point where the lips touch, the color is a bit missing, as if the line had to be interrupted. A discontinuation between the inside and the outside, a bridge between the insides.. . I wonder how many lips touched it, how many lips enjoyed it, how many mouths passed this threshold. The handle prolongs elegantly like a ribbon, unpretentious, carrying the same blue line. She rests perfectly on her slightly embracing, arched, partner- also painted with violets, its edges also outlined by a blue line- slightly stronger... correspondence, dialog, unity.. It is here to support her, to embrace and to enhance her beauty. Such a lovely couple! They’re not new…. But how old? How many stories and feelings have touched them? Who was their master? Was it a woman or a man? Drinking with joy and sorrow, lips full of contentment or bitterness. I found them on the street, in a box with other stuff to be given away before thrown away. There were three of them, like the three Graces, and gladly I took them home. Why can’t I resist looking though such things? It’s a bit like poking into someone’s life... things they used, they touched, like a fingerprint. Things that are silent witnesses and unnoticed partakers into someone’s life. And there she stands in front of me, like an old lady, tidy and coquette, full of time and stories, of age and touches of other people… cuddled and enjoyed. My tea cup.
Posted on: Wed, 28 Aug 2013 12:33:03 +0000
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