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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 42 move to the next. Most were of women. Beautiful women. Striking women. Extraordinary women. I walked around the room. No one spoke. I had to pull myself from one painting to go to the next. A woman sewing. A woman peeling apples. A woman at a table pouring tea. A woman cradling a baby. I didn't recognize any of the models. Some of the paintings were of men. A man in a hat pulling on his boots. A man wearing gloves holding a coil of rope. The paintings were so beautiful I wanted to cry. I wanted to know these people. Who were they? What were they thinking? I stared and stared. "How does he do it?" I finally asked. My voice was a whisper. Miss Larkin put her hand on my shoulder. "Mr. Morris has a remarkable talent," she explained. "He's been working on these paintings for many years and they've been reserved for a special New York showing in July. Collectors and museums are waiting anxiously." "Your painting, too?" I asked. Miss Larkin nodded. "I was astonished when he asked me to sit." I knew how she felt. Mr. Morris entered the room. Miss Larkin continued, "A week ago, Mr. Morris asked me if I knew someone else he might paint from Willard. I thought about you right off. I told him you were extraordinary." Extraordinary. |