Photo Essay

PHOTO ESSAY

It is hung on the wall between the front windows of our dining-room: the portrait of a little girl, half
turned in the formal dark mahogany frame, under glass with white matting. She is staring at you with her round shining eyes; head covered, finely molded lips are pursed. A child’s innocence is in the puffed up cheeks treaded by stiff silk kerchief. It is covering her head, tightly knotted under chin and the ends are jutting out. Only a bang of hair peeks out. The photograph is too old to have color, but rather sepia in color. Through sallow-green tones the rosy color struggles, mostly in the cheeks, and somehow I know that the jacket on the girl’s shoulders is a navy blue, with golden buttons; a round collar. She is so little and so serious. Maybe this look made that guy try to steal the portrait from the shop window of the photo studio, situated on the corner of the little town. My mother told this story about how the photographer proud of his work asked her to keep the photo of her daughter a while. He had hoped to attract more customers. Is the man who broke the glass to blame? Or was it the fault of the little girl in the photo? I do not remember this. I was four years old.