Prompt: “The Pictures Lie”
The cool strokes of light-imbued color revealed on the canvas a song of white cotton dresses embroidered with flowers, piles of soft curls whimsical and playful as the clouds. The women were dancing! – goodnatured folk of the countryside. They were pristine, innocent – bringing life to the once-quiet palette.
Julia, her uncombed hair tied hurriedly in a pony tail, weighed down by broad shoulders and stout fingers, gazed at the painting for more than just a few moments. Outside the museum – far away – she heard an ensemble of car horns and pedestrian babble. She caught herself breathing, straddling the line between fantasy and reality.
The picture made her sad. She lives in a loud, congested city while those young women lived free from automobiles, traffic lights and smog. They knew the dances of their ancestors. Julia had never even met her grandparents. Frankly, she hasn’t one clue where they are buried or the names of their parents. Indeed, her parents had left Utah at a young age. In that way, Julia realized, history was lost.
