Girl with peaches. Valentin Serov, 1887.
Serious eyes. What have we interrupted? This little girl sits at a table, simple white cloth, the sheen of the butter knife, the pressure of her fingers on the ripe peach. And yet, she has paused, no juice has spilled out of the fuzzy flesh of fruit, or slid down her wrist onto her pink sleeve. The day, the leaves with light shining peak in behind her to, trying to see what is happening, or maybe illuminating it for us? There is a serious sadness in her eyes, does she want to whisper secrets to this piece of creation? Or is she waiting until we leave so she can devour it herself? Within this frame there is the whimsy of childhood in the polka-dot bow and pink blouse, the newness of life, but also the passing of time, the day is ending, life moves forward, can she resist the sadness of the miniature soldier at her shoulder? What do we tell her?
