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The piece appears to be a portrait consisting of an old commoner, his wife, and their children alongside their grandchildren. The grandfather stands alongside his wife, arm about her shoulders behind a bench which their descendants sit upon. In the distance is a small farmstead, in what appears to be a rural region of Mordent.
Though at first it appears to depict merely some family portrait of commoners, more keen eyes would spot small details that allude to the events of their lives and their travels. A Lamordian pocket watch here, a distinct Invidian touch to the design of the house there, typical Dementlieuse features in the old couple, and so on.
Three perfume bottles, perched side by side on a table of polished timber. They are illustrated in an assemblage of inks in blacks and white, splashes of gouache in ambers and pinks skewed beneath to denote the elegant bottles’ contents. Simple and to the point, the etching seems nonetheless created with a great care for the product.
Labels are decorated with little fleur-de-lis, cursive handwriting denoting the familiar brands of perfume. A collection of monochrome lilies and roses accompany the display, having been arranged neatly betwixt each bottle. There is the tiniest flick of colour above that denotes a spritz of sweet perfume.
Rather than the usual symbol of a lily, a tiny signature in pretty, recognizable cursive may be spotted in the lower left corner. ‘Geneviève’.
A painting of most delicate means, expensively sourced oils secured in a lovely timber frame, its accents aureate.
The sweetest of creatures, a newly born babe, rests bundled in the arms of his mother. His eyes are of the brightest green, his curled hair a reddish-blonde. A pudgy hand curls about a larger finger, a bubbly coo on his lips. Beloved, he is, by the dear family that surrounds him. It is a moment of great celebration.
Draped in shrouds of chiffon and lace, the mother’s smile is radiant, bathed in the glow of maternity. The beatific gratefulness of bringing forth an heir to her lineage, as if providence. Her weariness appears clear, yet seems to be made worth it in the moment. Flowers and gifts are offered by idle hands, a bed of petals of which she rests upon contentedly. Tucked neatly into the corner is a tell-tale signature; a pretty white lily, thinly outlined.
A collection of gentlepeople, red-haired and handsome. Five women are gathered neatly; young daughters and their mother standing in symmetry. Behind them, the elder grandparents alongside their dearest, and oldest son; a father himself. They wear the politest smiles.
Settled daintily in the middle is the family’s youngest, doe-eyed and placid.The difference in her height to her family’s is only exaggerated further by her state of seatedness, an outlier, yet still keeping in line with their perfect symmetry. Her hand rests upon her elder sister’s arm. In many ways, the familial portrait is as generic as they come.
Yet, the runt’s verdant eyes are hollow, though uncannily lifelike. Her grip on her sister’s arm seems oddly loose. She appears as if a pretty doll propped within a shop’s window, displayed for all to see. An unsettling feeling; a ringing that passes promptly. It is surely nothing.
Below, a motto.
‘Through Propriety, Grace’.
The distinct silhouette of a house with a chimney resides in a thick fog as smoke rises from the hollow stone pillar. Warm light can be seen spilling out from under the doorway and window, with a figure standing behind it, thought it seems distracted.
Adjacent to the house lies a small field, toiled soil and farming tools. Another day's work done before dusk arrived. In the sky lies a full moon shrouded by clouds and blurred by fog. It's as if its almost ethereal as it sits pinned in the sky.
If one were to look a bit closer, they would see a raven perched on top of the house, overlooking the surrounding area. A few claw matches are etched into the door and pillars that brace the home. Sprigs of Belladonna hang above the doorway as your eyes may wander over back toward the field within the fog.
You could have sworn that scarecrow wasn't there before.
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