So It Goes: No oil painting

And every one knows that that picture paints a thousand words, words not needed to be told.

But reality does set in at some stage.

For most, it might take a few years - although I did have one friend who always referred to her baby as ET, shaking her head and laughing at the son who was all bald head and ears in the crib, but who would one day grow up to be a stunning and rather lovely young man.

I am not sure when I stopped believing that my son was never going to win a baby competition (there was a time when I thought golden curls and an adorable smile might just get him over that line).  And yes, I still acknowledge his gorgeous personality and still love those curls (now dreadlocked) as a happy addition to his ready smile.  But is he an oil painting?  Sadly, the art critic in me whispers that the Mona Lisa magic is a one off.

And yet, he has now become exactly that. He and his flat mates recently spent many hours sitting for their artist, commissioned by them to create a painting worthy of the entry to their shared abode.  I have not seen the work as yet, but the idea that three young men would commission an oil painting, makes me smile.  My son has always been the boy outside the proverbial box.

Not for him, a photographer doing a family sitting.  Not even for him, three separate pieces of art (one does wonder who will keep the painting once the shared household has been dispersed).  But for this boy of the here and now, the painting is a proclamation of his great love of his flat mates and his friend family in situ.

I like to imagine the painting.  I think some high back chairs may be involved – something antique.  I imagine ruffled shirts and breeches.  I imagine serious stares.  But I also imagine those stares hiding that mysterious smile – that sense of fun that my son has with his life and his loves and his friends.

And I wonder if that’s what Mona Lisa was thinking about as well.   I may first have thought he was no oil painting, but now I think he probably is.