|
One night at the bar a close friend told me this story about her grandmother:
"In the years before she died, she was deathly afraid of flies, hated them with a vengeance, especially when they hovered around the flower arrangements she made obsessively. She told us they were meant to be a re-creation of a painting she lost during the war. (She apparently believed that it was a late Manet, which she had been given as a wedding gift, one of the still-lifes of flowers he painted during his final year.) She would leave them on the table until all the petals fell off the flowers.
|