Seeking: Felicity

I often sit and watch the hem of my gown take shape along the tops of my shoes. 

How is it I can find such pleasure in the curves of fabric, the angles of a corner, the wisp of a cloud in the sky? 

Symmetry and fluidity, each captured by the lilt of my hands; perhaps the task of hand to paper, pen to ink will make this life more apt to stay.  

Beautiful things dance all around me. I am young and life seems delicious as custard pies; rich as the crimson hue of this blanket I sit upon. Every pinpoint my eye can absorb moves in a fantastic rhythm and it is all I can do to follow its meter. 

I must draw quickly what I see before me, lest it disappears forever.

A pair of lovers sit outside, across the courtyard. See there, two at rest on the bridge above. I take a moment to examine the scene. Notice how he leans into her dainty frame, like a willow drawn to the water? He seems to drink her very essence. She sways ever so slightly, he a mere ripple in her eyes so blue. The tip of her bonnet tilts up, as if to catch the first available sight of something new.

She plays a tricky game, hoping to catch his attentions more so by aloofness. What a grown-up way to be romanced. It seems, the moment I land in the way of someone's interested glance, all servility is let loose. To hold back as she, a flower to his weed--what wisdom.

How nice to be quite sure of yourself at one and twenty, with eyes like sky.

My father says I am too young for love. I peer into the mirror before me and believe it is not my youth that is undeserving, but my looks. My eyes are too round and mouth horribly pouty. The hair round my temple is wispy like tangled wheat in a field. How long will I have to ponder over the heath of my complexion or grimace at the endless ramblings my mind can produce? I have all the time to capture the world on paper, but what good will those captive colors or moments do? 

Will I ever be who I'm meant to be? A girl can hope for nothing more than what she has--attentions that lead to marriage. Then in marriage, a chance at felicity. 

What more can a girl hope for? 

Felicity is a remarkable word, for it sounds as its definition implies--free, with the slight crispness of expectations met. Here I sit, expecting. 

What more can a girl expect, but the promise of expecting? Only trouble with expectations--sometimes they are painfully mistaken.  

Here I sit, still. See the charming way the hem of my gown takes shape along the tops of my shoes? I think I shall title my drawing, "Seeking Felicity." 

Do you hear the crispness of my breath as the words dash onto the page...felicity.

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Marie-Denise Villers was the subject of the above painting, "Young Woman Drawing." She lives in the Metropolitan Museum of Art here in NY. 

My favorite thing to do here is visit the museum and write poems and short pieces based off of the faces and characters depicted along the exhibits here. This young woman has always been an inspiring image to me--my last trip to the Met I was so excited to find her at among the art work.

"Seeking: Felicity"  was a gut response to the above mentioned painting.