I Googled painting yellow dress piano. And there it was, on the first page of images. My parents had a print of this painting, I think it may have been a wedding gift. Martine and I didn't find it among Mom's things when we went through them last fall. I was really hoping we would run across it. I wanted to have it, and not because I particularly like it. When I was growing up, we moved a little. Okay, a lot. By the time I was married and moved into the house I still live in, I remembered more previous addresses than I was years old. It felt good to finally be settled. That was twenty-five years ago. This painting meant home to me when I was a child. When it was unpacked and hung on the living room wall, we were going to be there for a while. I pretended that the woman seated at the piano was Mom and it annoyed me more than a little that the daughter was blonde. I wondered what it would be like to live in such a house with fresh roses and fancy carpets and a mysterious staircase that disappeared behind the blue curtain. That house was where I wanted to live. I'd love to find a print of this painting now, and maybe with a little more time I'll find the title of it or the artist's name. There's no place like home, Dorothy fervently wished as she clicked the heels of her ruby slippers together. She was right.
Monday, June 27, 2011
No Place Like Home
I Googled painting yellow dress piano. And there it was, on the first page of images. My parents had a print of this painting, I think it may have been a wedding gift. Martine and I didn't find it among Mom's things when we went through them last fall. I was really hoping we would run across it. I wanted to have it, and not because I particularly like it. When I was growing up, we moved a little. Okay, a lot. By the time I was married and moved into the house I still live in, I remembered more previous addresses than I was years old. It felt good to finally be settled. That was twenty-five years ago. This painting meant home to me when I was a child. When it was unpacked and hung on the living room wall, we were going to be there for a while. I pretended that the woman seated at the piano was Mom and it annoyed me more than a little that the daughter was blonde. I wondered what it would be like to live in such a house with fresh roses and fancy carpets and a mysterious staircase that disappeared behind the blue curtain. That house was where I wanted to live. I'd love to find a print of this painting now, and maybe with a little more time I'll find the title of it or the artist's name. There's no place like home, Dorothy fervently wished as she clicked the heels of her ruby slippers together. She was right.
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4 comments:
NOW I remember the picture!
When I opened your blog I recognized it immediately.
I have no idea where it ended up. I haven't seen that picture in the last several places mom lived in.
I wonder if it was one of the items that was stolen when mom's UHaul was broken into in Flagstaff, AZ?
I think the last place I remember seeing it was the house on Nathan Hale. Was that pre-Flagstaff?
Si
Oops. No it was post Flagstaff. I don't remember the painting in the house on Nathan Hale.
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