This Monday’s Still Life is a portrait of a chair – one that you know well and has a story.
This is me with scuffed shoes and bossing someone around in a relaxed sort of way.
The little rocking chair was made of yew, and I felt it was mine. My brothers are older than me so didn’t fit in the seat. I think it came from my grandmother’s house. Dad was her youngest child, and I am his youngest. When the time came to distribute everything from the family home my brother got the chair – his children were the right age and mine were too old to fit.
The point of this potted history is to lead you to the still life for this Monday.
A Portrait of a Chair
I can tell a story about a number of my chairs; the one I sit on for my coffee with the remnant of fabric from my last house covering the seat, the chair my husband has in his office used to belong to his uncle. It was firmly adopted by Roger, our Jack Russell, who died in the chair. A chair tells a history, hints at memories, is uncomfortable, wobbly…whatever. Please do a PORTRAIT OF A CHAIR.
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