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Was it dear to someone to get such a prominent spot? Or did they just have to fill a spot on the wall?
Whatever the reason, there’s something quietly captivating about this painting.
Actually, it reminds me of a stool Oma used to have in her kitchen when I grew up. I wonder if she’s still got it.
As I study the still life, the anger I entered this room with fades into the background, and a strange peace comes over me. I sit down on the floor and stare up at the painting.
There’s light streaming into the scene from the right side, illuminating one-half of the stool while the other remains in the shadows. The lit up side has flowers growing in the background that fade away as if swallowed up by the darkness.
The legs appear to be slightly different thicknesses… or maybe that’s an optical illusion because of the lighting. One leg is fully lit up, and one is in the dark, the other is in the semi-shade. Each leg also has a different mark carved into the wood. They look similar to ancient Celtic symbols I’ve seen all my life but have never paid much attention to.
I wish I knew what they mean. Damn, I need my phone to take some pictures and do some research.
The seat part too has a carving, but it’s faint. The many bottoms sitting on it have probably worn it off. I cock my head to the side, trying to remember where I’ve seen the mark before.
It reminds me of the Celtic Trinity Knot. But how would a stool with Celtic symbols get to Italy? Hmm, there’s probably some roman equivalent.
The seat is also not round like you’d expect but looks to have more of a heart shape. A branch of laurel rests on top of it.
I wonder why laurel?
Oma used to add laurel essential oil to her massage oil for her arthritis. And in ancient times, didn’t Olympic athletes wear a laurel wreath if they won an event? But what’s on the chair isn’t a wreath, hence this wouldn’t be a symbol of victory.
I tap my fingers against my lips, thinking. Ah, I know…resting on your laurelsand the stool is a place to rest. Yep, that makes sense.
Who would have guessed you can discover so much in a simple still-life painting?
When I finally find the kitchen to make myself a smoothie before my run, I’m surprised to find Mateo there, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Ella.” He smiles at me broadly.
I don’t know much about Tiero’s brother, but he’s always struck me as the easygoing one.
“Mateo, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Tiero invited me to your Formula One outing. Had to see for myself what the fuss is all about. I’m sorry I missed your spin on the track yesterday.”
Now, that memory brings a genuine smile back to my face. “It was so much fun. There’s practice today, qualifying tomorrow, and the race on Sunday. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
“Fast cars and beautiful women everywhere. What’s not to love?” he says with a wink.
Ever the playboy.
“When did you get here?” I ask as I take out the ingredients for my green smoothie from the fridge and take them to the blender.
“I arrived last night.” After a pause, he adds, “I’m happy you and Tiero are back together.” I can hear the smirk in voice.
I freeze mid-motion, my hand hovering over the open blender, the berries seemingly stuck to my skin. I’m glad my back is turned because I’m sure my face is beet red.
Shit. Mateo heard us.
Actually, I’m sure the entire house heard us… we were rather loud.
I clear my throat and continue to prepare my drink.
Putting his cup down, Mateo comes up behind me and places his hands comfortingly on my shoulders. “Don’t be embarrassed, Ella. I’m thrilled for both of you. He really loves you. You’ll be happy together.”
Happy together?
